May

Now comes the bonny May, dancing and skipping
Across the stepping stones of meadow streams;
Bearing no kin to April showers a-weeping,
But constant Sunshine as her servant seems.
Her heart is up — her sweetness all a-maying,
Streams in her face, like gems on Beauty's breast;
The swains are sighing all, and well-a-daying,
Love-sick and gazing on their lovely guest.
The Sunday paths, to pleasant places leading,
Are graced by couples linking arm in arm;
Sweet smiles enjoying, or some book a-reading,
Where Love and Beauty are the constant charm;
For while the bonny May is dancing by,
Beauty delights the ear, and Beauty fills the eye.