Here, the trees are nearly bare; the days are growing darker; the cold is closing in and nightly frosts begin to take the flowers. So Milton's little 'Song on May Morning' belongs to another world. But it's somehow warming, somehow cheering this chill day.
Now the bright morning Star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
Hail bounteous May that dost inspire
Mirth and youth and warm desire,
Woods and Groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and Dale doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early Song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.