Ah ! now's the merry month of May,
And sweet, in musing fit, to stray
Thro' flowery mead and verdant vale,
Where cowslip wan and primrose pale.
And daisy pied, and blue hare-bell,
Sweet rural sisters,—love to dwell.
Ye favourite children of the Spring!
Pleasing thoughts to me ye bring,
Which with youthful pleasure beam,
Thronging o'er me like a dream,
Scenes of other days and years,
When the heart was free from cares,—
Childhood's happy, vernal days,
When, 'mid springtide's flowery ways,
I was wont to skip and play,
Lightsome, frolicsome, and gay:
Or, busy, spend the sunny hour,
Gathering every smiling flower,
Fond, as miser o'er his store,
The more I got, to add the more,
And loath to leave the anxious toil,
Whilst my hand could clasp the spoil,
Or my lap the treasure hold,
Precious more to me than gold:
Then with infant pride I'd glow,
And homeward quickly speed, to show
To all around the rich display
Of flowery treasure, cull'd that day.