MAY

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.