May laughs, rolling ’mong the flowers,
Careless of the wintry hours.
May’s storms turn to sunny rain,
And, when Iris springs again,
All the angels clap their hands,
Singing in their seraph bands.
—Walter Thornbury, “The Twelve Brothers.”
Now, shrilleth clear each several bird his note,
The Halcyon charms the wave that knows no gale,