Waiting for the May

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.

Ah ! my heart is sick with longing,
Longing for the May —
Longing to escape from study,
To the young face fair and ruddy,
And the thousand charms belonging
To the summer's day.
Ah ! my heart is sick with longing,
Longing for the May.

Ah ! my heart is sore with sighing,
Sighing for the May —
Sighing for their sure returning,
When the summer beams are burning,
Hopes and flowers that dead or dying
All the winter lay.
Ah ! my heart is sore with sighing,
Sighing for the May.

Ah ! my heart is pained with throbbing
Throbbing for the May —
Throbbing for the sea-side billows,
Or the water-wooing willows ;
Where in laughing and in sobbing
Glide the streams away.
Ah ! my heart, my heart is throbbing,
Throbbing for the May.

Waiting sad, dejected, weary,
Waiting for the May.
Spring goes by with wasted warnings,
Moonlight evenings, sunbright mornings ;
Summer comes, yet dark and dreary,
Life stills ebbs away :
Man is ever weary, weary,
Waiting for the May !