I have to help Harry along the road,
That is so much harder for him than me.
Living alone in the depths of a wood,
Life catches meanings, and things become clear;
But Harry is growing so very good,
That it almost gives me a sort of fear.
'O little May-blossom!' he softly cries,
As together we tread the well-worn way,
'There is nothing sweeter beneath the skies,
Than a little shining blossom of May!