Reference > Quotations > Hoyt & Roberts, comps. > Hoyt’s New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations
Hoyt & Roberts, comps.  Hoyt’s New Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations.  1922.
Hebe’s here, May is here!
  The air is fresh and sunny;
And the miser-bees are busy
  Hoarding golden honey.
        T. B. Aldrich—May.
As it fell upon a day
In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made.
        Richard Barnfield—Address to the Nightingale.
Spring’s 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 Coolidge—May.
But winter lingering chills the lap of May.
        Goldsmith—The Traveller. L. 172.
Sweet May hath come to love us,
  Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;
And through the blue heavens above us
  The very clouds move on.
        Heine—Book of Songs. New Spring. No. 5.
O month when they who love must love and wed.
        Helen Hunt Jackson—Verses. May.
O May, sweet-voiced one, going thus before,
Forever June may pour her warm red wine
Of life and passion,—sweeter days are thine!
        Helen Hunt Jackson—Verses. May.
Oh! that we two were Maying
  Down the stream of the soft spring breeze;
Like children with violets playing,
  In the shade of the whispering trees.
        Charles Kingsley—Saint’s Tragedy. Act II. Sc. 9.
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 McCarthy—Summer Longings.
Now the bright morning star, day’s 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.
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.
        Clinton Scollard—May Magic.
As full of spirit as the month of May.
        King Henry IV. Pt. I. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 101.
No doubt they rose up early to observe
The rite of May.
        Midsummer Night’s Dream. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 137.
In beauty as the first of May.
        Much Ado About Nothing. Act I. Sc. 1. L. 194.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.
        Sonnet XVIII.
More matter for a May morning.
        Twelfth Night. Act III. Sc. 4. L. 145.
Another May new buds and flowers shall bring:
Ah! why has happiness no second Spring?
        Charlotte Smith—Elegiac Sonnets and Other Poems. Sonnet II.
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 Taylor—The Lost May.
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.
        Tennyson—The May Queen. St. 1.
Among the changing months, May stands confest
The sweetest, and in fairest colors dressed.
        Thomson—On 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 Thurlow—To May.
For every marriage then is best in tune,
When that the wife is May, the husband June.
        Rowland Watkins—To the most Courteous and Fair Gentlewoman, Mrs. Elinor Williams.
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 Watson—Ode in May.

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