"'Neath the first of the sunrise . . . a garden I found me; 

 And fulfilled of great pleasure I was as I entered 

 The fair place of flowers/* 



WILLIAM MORRIS. 



MAY 



For light and song, for leaves and flowers, 

 The sunshine's ever glorious hours, 

 Spring sings to heaven a song of praise, 

 In all her countless lovely ways. 

 A choir of birds on budding bough, 

 Where leaves are lisping praises now ; 

 A laugh where waters wind along, 

 Spring's sweet thanksgiving, May's dear song 



In Spring and May, hearts should be glad ; 

 Who in this month of months is sad, 

 When days are told in golden hours, 

 As vanishes the month of flowers ? 

 Come, lend your heart to swell the praise ; 

 Your eyes to traverse beauty's ways ; 

 Your lips, chant they but one refrain, 

 So you join Spring's thanksgiving strain ! 



97 



