 | The pink book |  |
32
MAY.
The rosy-fronted morning blinks and peeps
Athwart the fields, and from the dewy ling
Climbs into heaven a lark, in heaven to sing,
Whilst o'er the waking world the sunshine creeps;
Down yon blue hill, with little trips and leaps
There comes, methinks, a maiden wandering,
White hawthorn flowers unto her hair do cling,
And in her hands wild hyacinths she keeps.
Athwart the fields, and from the dewy ling
Climbs into heaven a lark, in heaven to sing,
Whilst o'er the waking world the sunshine creeps;
Down yon blue hill, with little trips and leaps
There comes, methinks, a maiden wandering,
White hawthorn flowers unto her hair do cling,
And in her hands wild hyacinths she keeps.
May! running in the sunbeams o'er the ground!—
Youth laughs to see, and old age lifts his head
New-hearted, when he hears the sweet name's sound;
And gaily from their houses are they sped
Where on the busy green the dance goes round
One that is young, and fair, and garlanded.
Youth laughs to see, and old age lifts his head
New-hearted, when he hears the sweet name's sound;
And gaily from their houses are they sped
Where on the busy green the dance goes round
One that is young, and fair, and garlanded.
| The pink book | |