MAY MORNING

In a green and dewy pathway in my garden,

Where apple bloom makes sweet the passing breeze,

I hear the blackbird heralding the summer,

I hear the wonder-music of the trees !

O May of love! thy olden, olden beauty

The primal magic of creation's morn,

Holds earth again in sun and song and flower,

And in the blossom breaking on the thorn!

(Michael Walsh)