Classic Poem

BY WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER .

May-morning! May-morning! — The bird from its bough,
And the maid from her chamber, are hurrying now;
That glad in its heart at the coming of day,
And she to go maying, through woodlands away.
The lark with the dawn shakes the dew from his wings,
And aloft from the meadow exultingly springs;
And frequent, though distant he be, ye may hear
Reveille shrilly sounded by proud chanticleer.

May-morning! May-morning! — Thy breath stirreth now
The dark curls on many a beautiful brow;
And from fairy-like forms, as they hasten along,
Burst gushings of gladness and snatches of song.
The dew-drops that hang on the glittering grass,
Flash brightly and dance in their way as they pass;
And each bird, as it swings on its high, airy stem,
Carols sweetly its liveliest notes for them.

May-morning! May-morning! — Song, laughter and shout,
'Mid thy bushes and blossoms ring joyously out;
For hearts yet untouch'd by the canker of care,
And shadowless spirits, unfetter'd, are there.
And white hands are gath'ring, in wreath and bouquet,
Fresh flow'rs for the bow'r on the hill-side to-day,
Where, 'neath the calm sky, 'mid the spring's smiling green,
The loyal and fair crown their merry May-Queen.