New Spring, 5

Sweet May hath come to love us,
Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;
And through the blue heavens above us
The rosy clouds move on.

The nightingales are singing
On leafy perch aloft;
The snowy lambs are springing
In clover green and soft.

I cannot be singing and springing,
Ill in the grass I lie;
I hear a distant ringing,
And dream of days gone by.