I

The daughters of Summer faint with languor,
But maiden May has a sprightlier song;
Her fluttering west wind cools the anger
Of Apollo her wooer, whose shafts are strong:
Young blossoms, young birds are her dainty darlings,
And the raucous talk of her eager starlings
Welcomes the dawn with a curious clangour
When the lark's aloft, and the shadows are long.

II

May in our London too hath an attitude
that is charming to you and me:
For her gay bird-voice is the voice of Patti; —
Sang never lark with a rarer glee.
And the sunlight of May has power actinic
To gladden the heart of the veriest cynic,
When miraculous Art's serene beatitudes
in Trafalgar Square we see.

III

May on the river! Verily fill a
Bumper to honour her: who condemns?
Dining at eve in a pleasant villa,
While wit and poetry's rarest gems
Aid the exquisite wine's swift sparkle,
And under the oak-trees patriarchal
We see the swans their young flotilla
Piloting home over sinuous Thames.