If you scare the flycatcher away,
No good luck with you will stay.
Somerset.
May 29th, yack-bob day.
Westmorland.
May, thou month of rosy beauty,
Month when pleasure is a duty;
Month of maids that milk the kine,
Bosom rich, and breath divine;
Month of bees, and month of flowers
Month of blossom-laden bowers;
Month of little hands with daisies,
Lover's love, and poets' praises.
Oh, thou merry month complete!
May, thy very name is sweet.
Leigh Hunt.
When clamour that doves in the lindens keep
Mingles with musical flash of the weir,
Where drowned green tresses of crowsfoot creep,
Then comes in the sweet o' the year!
When big trout late in the twilight leap,
When the cuckoo clamoureth far and near,
When glittering scythes in the hayfield reap,
Then comes in the sweet o' the year!