Springs last-born darling, clear-eyed, sweet, Pauses a moment, with white twinkling feet, And golden locks in breezy play, Half teasing and half tender, to repeat Her song of May. Susan CoolidgeMay.
Ah! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May: Waiting for the pleasant rambles Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles, With the woodbine alternating, Scent the dewy way; Ah! my heart is weary, waiting, Waiting for the May. Denis Florence McCarthySummer Longings.
Now the bright morning star, days harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that doth inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing, Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long. MiltonSong. On May Morning.
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! Bayard TaylorThe Lost May.
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? Lord ThurlowTo May.
What is so sweet and dear As a prosperous morn in May, The confident prime of the day, And the dauntless youth of the year, When nothing that asks for bliss, Asking aright, is denied, And half of the world a bridegroom is And half of the world a bride? William WatsonOde in May.