Littell's Living Age/Volume 138/Issue 1777/May

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For works with similar titles, see May.


    Come, let us goe, while we are in our prime,
    And take the harmiesse follie of the time.

Spring's hands, in Shakespeare's words, you say,

    "Do paint the meadows with delight" —

I go where artist hands in May

    Hang paintings far more bright!

Though soft the twilight star that shines

    On grassy mead and limpid stream —

The stars I seek when day declines

    In Covent Garden beam!

Though sweet the thousand liquid notes

    Your feathered songsters warble here —

My birds of eve from tuneful throats

    Now utter notes more dear!

Farewell, ye streams, ye meads, ye flowers,

    Until your autumn robes ye wear —

Though May is fair in country bowers,

    'Tis fairest in Mayfair!