Classic Poem

— A H ! 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 seaside 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, —
Moonlit evenings, sunbright mornings, —
— Summer comes, yet dark and dreary
— — Life still ebbs away;
— Man is ever weary, weary,
— — Waiting for the May!