  (Ætat 4). Come, child, that I may make A primrose wreath to crown thee Queen of Spring! Of thee the glad birds sing; For thee small flowers fling Their lives abroad; for thee—for Dorothea's sake! Hasten! For I must pay Due homage to thee, have thy Royal kiss, Our thrush shall sing of this; —In many a bout of bliss Tell how I crown'd thee Queen, Spring's Queen, this glad May-day. John Jervis Beresford, M.A. |
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