Now the bright morning Star, Dayes harbinger,
Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
The Flowry 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 welcom thee, and wish thee long.
~~
John Milton (1608-1674)
from Poetical Works, 1900
Ah! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May –
Waiting for the pleasant rambles,
Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles, With the woodbine alternating, Scent the dewy way. Ah! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May.
Ah! my heart is sick with longing, Longing for the May –
Longing to escape from study,
To the young face fair and ruddy, And the thousand charms belonging To the summer's day. Ah! my heart is sick with longing, Longing for the May.
Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, Sighing for the May –
Sighing for their sure returning,
When the summer beams are burning, Hopes and flowers that, dead or dying, All the winter lay. Ah! my heart is sore with sighing, Sighing for the May.
Ah! my heart is pained and throbbing, Throbbing for the May –
Throbbing for the sea-side billows,
Or the water-wooing willows, Where in laughing and in sobbing Glide the streams away. Ah! my heart is pained and throbbing, Throbbing for the May.
Waiting sad, dejected, weary, Waiting for the May.
Spring goes by with wasted warnings,
Moon-lit evenings, sun-bright mornings; Summer comes, yet dark and dreary Life still ebbs away: Man is ever weary, weary, Waiting for the May!
I give you meadow-lands in April, fair With over-growth of beautiful green grass; There among fountains the glad hours shall pass,
And pleasant ladies bring you solace there.
With steeds of Spain and ambling palfreys rare; Provencal songs and dances that surpass; And quaint French mummings; and through hollow brass
A sound of German music on the air.
And gardens ye shall have, that every one May lie at ease about the fragrant place; And each with fitting reverence shall bow down Unto that youth to whom I gave a crown Of precious jewels like to those that grace
The Babylonian Kaiser, Prestcr John.
~~ Folgore da San Geminiano (?1270-1332?) translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882) from The Early Italian Poets, 1861
