Of glory around the fair face of St. May.
What surquayne or partlet could look better than
My saint’s curly jacket of black Astracan?
What coif than her bonnet—a triumph of skill—
Or alb than her petticoat edged with a frill?
So sober, yet smiling—so grave, yet so gay,
Oh, where is a saint like my charming St. May?
J. Ashby-Sterry.