The voice of one who goes before to make

The paths of June more beautiful, is thine,

Sweet May! Without an envy of her crown

And bridal; patient stringing emeralds

And shining rubies for the brows of birch

And maple; flinging garlands of pure white

And pink, which to their bloom add prophecy;

Gold cups o'erfilling on a thousand hills

And calling honey-bees; out of their sleep

The tiny summer harpers with bright wings

Awaking, teaching them their notes for noon—

O, May, sweet-voiced one, going thus before,

Forever June may pour her warm, red wine

Of life and passion—sweeter days are thine!