English poem
May
by Oliver Herford (1863–1935)
Like Brunhilda, May is won By the kisses of the Sun. Siegfried like, the maid he takes In his arms and she awakes To the tender piping sound Of the birds--while all around In a magic fire ring Purple flames of Crocus spring. Now I fill my fragrant briar, Lo! it glows with gentle fire, Wafting scented wreaths of love To the little leaves above.