48 May. 
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
And all the earth is gay ; 
Land and sea 
Give themselves up to jollity, 
And with the heart of May 
Doth every beast keep holiday. 
Thou child of joy, 
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 
Shepherd Boy ! 
Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the call 
Ye to each other make ; I see 
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; 
My heart is at your festival, 
My head hath its coronal, 
The fulness of your bliss I feel—I feel it all. 
Oh, evil day ! if I were sullen, 
While the Earth herself is adorning 
This sweet May-morning, 
And the children are pulling, 
On every side, 
In a thousand valleys, far and wide, 
Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm, 
And the babe leaps up on his mother’s arm. 
Wordsworth , 
