But who bewitched him thus, forsooth,
In words he won't be telling.
Hurrah! is all that he will say,
How lovely is the month of May,
Dear love, I send thee greeting!"
With joyous trills the nightingale
On the topmost bough is singing,
While far o'er mountain and o'er vale
The thrilling notes are ringing.
The birds are looking all about,