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 Who first beholds the light of day
 In Spring's sweet flowery month of May
  And wears an read more 
 Who first beholds the light of day
 In Spring's sweet flowery month of May
  And wears an Emerald all her life,
   Shall be a loved and happy wife. 
 In the under-wood and the over-wood
 There is murmur and trill this day,
  For every bird is read more 
 In the under-wood and the over-wood
 There is murmur and trill this day,
  For every bird is in lyric mood,
   And the wind will have its way. 
 For every marriage then is best in tune,
 When that the wife is May, the husband June.  
 For every marriage then is best in tune,
 When that the wife is May, the husband June. 
 May, queen of blossoms,
 And fulfilling flowers,
  With what pretty music
   Shall we charm read more 
 May, queen of blossoms,
 And fulfilling flowers,
  With what pretty music
   Shall we charm the hours?
    Wilt thou have pipe and reed,
     Blown in the open mead?
      Or to the lute give heed
       In the green bowers. 
 Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
 And summer's lease hath all too short a date.  
 Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
 And summer's lease hath all too short a date. 
 O May, sweet-voice one, going thus before,
 Forever June may pour her warm red wine
  Of life read more 
 O May, sweet-voice one, going thus before,
 Forever June may pour her warm red wine
  Of life and passions,--sweeter days are thine! 
 When May, with cowslip-braided locks,
 Walks through the land in green attire.
  And burns in meadow-grass the read more 
 When May, with cowslip-braided locks,
 Walks through the land in green attire.
  And burns in meadow-grass the phlox
   His torch of purple fire:
    . . . .
     And when the punctual May arrives,
      With cowslip-garland on her brow,
       We know what once she gave our lives,
        And cannot give us now! 
More matter for a May morning.
More matter for a May morning.
 Sweet May hath come to love us,
 Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;
  And through the blue heavens read more 
 Sweet May hath come to love us,
 Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;
  And through the blue heavens above us
   The very clouds move on.