A Song For May Morning.

A poem by H. P. Nichols

Awake! awake! the dusky night
Is fading from the sky;
Awake! and with the early light
To pleasant fields we'll hie.
Come with me, and I will show
Where the fragrant wild-flowers grow;
We will weave a garland gay
For our smiling Queen of May.

The sun peeps up behind the hills,
And hark! the morning song
Of little birds the fresh air fills,
As now we skip along.
By the brook-side cold and wet,
Blooms the pale, white violet;
There's the purple blossom, too,
Nodding with its weight of dew.

The gentle wind just lifts the head
Of many a columbine;
And, taken from their rocky bed,
They in our wreaths shall twine.
Saxifrage, so small and sweet,
Grows in plenty at our feet;
From the grass we gather up,
Golden bright, the buttercup.

Now for the trailing evergreen,
That in the woodland springs,
And we will crown our May-day queen
With buds this fair month brings.
Merriest of all the year
Is the day we welcome here;
We will sing and dance away,
In our glee, this long May-day.

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