Joy even to tears, which the Sun rising dries; first the Wild Thyme
And Meadow-sweet, downy and soft, waving among the reeds,
Light springing in the air, lead the sweet Dance; they wake
The Honeysuckle sleeping in the Oak, the flaunting beauty
Revels along upon the wind; the white-thorn lovely May
Opens her many lovely eyes; listening the Rose still sleeps.
None dare to wake her. Soon she bursts her crimson-curtained bed
And comes forth in the majesty of beauty; every Flower—
The Pink, the Jessamine, the Wallflower, the Carnation,
The Jonquil, the mild Lily opes her heavens; every Tree