MAY

How joyful the golden-tress'd God thro' the sky Diffuses his all-forming ray!— See, the temperate hours, as round him they fly, Drop roses to crown the new May. Each many-plum'd songster that lives in yon grove Gives voice to his green-kirtled spray, And when he pours forth, the soft tale of his love, Concludes with a sonnet to May. The brooks that sweet vi'lets and thyme flow among Their babbling course wantonly stay, Till hearing the chorus of Nature's glad song They purl on in honour of May. Nor let me forget while enraptur'd I sing The honour that's due to this day— To heighten the transports I taste in the Spring, I'll make Hebe Queen of the May.