And fairy month of waking mirth From whom our joys ensue Thou early gladder of the earth Thrice welcome here anew With thee the bud unfolds to leaves The grass greens on the lea And flowers their tender boon receives To bloom and smile with thee.
Into the nothingness of scorn and noise, Into the living sea of waking dreams, Where there is neither sense of life or joys, But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems; And e'en the dearest--that I love the best-- Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.
