Come, let us leave the busy town
And to the country hasten down,—
We’ll go this very day!
The hills and dales are deckt with green,
On every bush the buds are seen,
And all the countryside is sweet with May.
What pleasure can the city yield
When every grove and verdant field
Is drest in spring array?
Or who would wish a dusty street
When he can rest his weary feet
In meadows odorous with flowery May?
The robin plumes his ruddy breast,
And to his mate upon the nest
He sings a roundelay;
And all the golden afternoon
The blue-bird pipes his happy tune
And flits among the fragrant fields of May.
The violets empearled with dew
Reflect the heaven’s perfect blue,
The tulips softly sway;
The primrose haunts the woodland hills,
And golden-hearted daffodils
Dance gaily in the balmy winds of May.
The orchards are a lovely sight,
The trees embowered in pink and white,
Each like a great bouquet;
And wide they spread their spicy scent
Till all the air is redolent,
And O, we wish that it were always May!
The city bindeth men with care,—
Engaged in this and that affair
They wear their lives away;
But in the country’s leafy lanes
Simplicity securely reigns,—
Care sorteth not with happy-hearted May.
Then leave the desk and come along,
We’ll go and hear the robin’s song,—
Let’s haste without delay!
We’ll drink a draught of morning dew,
And wandering the meadows through
We’ll see the country girls bring in the May.
(John Russell Hayes)
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