32 
MAY. 
HERE is a flower, a little flower, 
W With silver crest and golden eye, 
That welcomes every changing hour, 
An d weathers every sky. 
The prouder beauties of the field, 
In gay but quick succession shine 
Race after race their honours yield, 
They flourish and decline. 
But this small flower, to Nature dear, 
While moons and stars their courses run, 
Wreathes the whole circle of the year, 
Companion of the sun. 
It smiles upon the lap of May, 
To sultry August spreads its charms, 
Lights pale October on its way, 
And twines December’s arms. 
The purple heath, and golden broom, 
On moory mountains catch the gale, 
O’er lawns the lily sheds perfume, 
The violet in the vale : 
But this bold flow’ret climbs the hill, 
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen, 
Plays on the margin of the rill, 
Peeps round the fox’s den. 
Within the garden’s cultured round, 
It shares the sweet carnation’s bed, 
And blooms in consecrated ground, 
In honour of the dead. 
The lambkin, crops its crimson gem, 
The wild bee murmurs on its breast, 
The blue fly bends its pensile stem, 
Light o’er the skylark’s nest. 
