In Spite of All: A Novel

by Edna Lyall

With your music, dance and song;

Bring your lasses in your hands,

For ’tis that which love commands.

Then to the May-pole haste away,

For ’tis now a holiday.

It is the choice time of the year,

For the violets now appear;

Now the rose receives its birth,

And pretty primrose decks the earth.

Then to the May-pole haste away,