The Song of May

To mountains hoar and russet plain, A joyous sprite, I come again; With many a sweet and joyous strain, And break grim winter's icy chain.

From yon blue chambers far above, On brilliant wings, I lightly move; I come, and lead the cooing dove, And all the choir that fill the grove.

To leafy wild, and city's hum, The queen of joy, I come, I come; The little rills no more are dumb; But hail me, as I come, I come.

With breath that glads both land and main, I come again, I come again! On hillside, bank, and level plain, The flowers appear, in beauteous train.

To blooming land and azure main, Each year I duly come again; A stranger from yon heavenly plain Of light and bliss; as poets feign.