Most happy child of the happy May?
For thou wert born when the earth was clad
With her robe of buds and flowers,
And didst float about with a soul as glad
As a bird in the sunny showers;
And the hour of thy death had a sweet repose,
Like a melody, sweetest at its close.
Nor too brief the date of thy cheerful race—
’Tis its use that measures time—
And the mighty Spirit that fills all space