MAY. 
— 
©EASON of fancy and of hope, 
u Permit not for one hour 
A blossom from thy crown to drop, 
Nor add to it a flower ! 
Keep, lovely May, as if by touch 
Of self-restraining art, 
This modest charm of not too much, 
Part seen, imagined part! 
Wordsworth. 
It was the prime 
Of the sweet Spring-time. 
In the linnet’s throat 
Trembled the love-note ; 
And the love-stirred air 
Thrilled the blossoms there. 
George Eliot. 
, Now rings the. woodland loud and long, 
The distance takes a lovelier hue, 
And, drowned in yonder living blue, 
The lark becomes a sightless song. 
Tennyson. 
97 
