Gay Marigold Is Frolic

Gay Marigold is frolic,
She laughs till summer is done;
She hears the Grillie chirping
All day i' the blazing sun.

But when the pale moon rises,
She fain her face would hide;
For the high Queen of sorrows
Disdains her empty pride.

* * *

Fair Primrose haunts the shadow
With children of the Spring,
Till in the bloomy woodland
The nightingale will sing.

And when he lauds the May-night
And spirits throng the grove,
The moon shines thro' the branches
And floods her heart with love.