Page:The Golden Violet.pdf/10



, to-morrow, thou loveliest May, To-morrow will rise up thy first-born day; Bride of the summer, child of the spring, To-morrow the year will its favourite bring: The roses will know thee, and fling back their vest, While the nightingale sings him to sleep on their breast; The blossoms, in welcomes, will open to meet On the light boughs thy breath, in the soft grass thy feet. To-morrow the dew will have virtue to shed O'er the cheek of the maiden* its loveliest red;