Mill May

The strawberries grow in the mowing, Mill May,
And the bob-o'-link sings on the tree;
On the knolls the red clover is growing, Mill May,
Then come to the meadow with me!
We 'll pick the ripe clusters among the deep grass,
On the knolls in the mowing, Mill May,
And the long afternoon together we'll pass,
Where the clover is growing, Mill May.

Come! come, ere the season is over, Mill May,
To the fields where the strawberries grow,
While the thick-growing stems and the clover, Mill May,
Shall meet us wherever we go;
We 'll pick the ripe clusters among the deep grass,
On the knolls in the mowing, Mill May,
And the long afternoon together we'll pass,
Where the clover is growing Mill May.

The sun, stealing under your bonnet, Mill May,
Shall kiss a soft glow to your face,
And your lip the strawberry leave on it, Mill May,
A tint that the sea-shell would grace;
Then come? the ripe clusters among the deep grass
We 'll pick in the mowing, Mill May,
And the long afternoon together we'll pass,
Where the clover is growing, Mill May.