From the Poetical Language of Flowers
by Thomas Miller.
Originally published in Howitt's Journal (William & Mary Howitt) vol.2 #36 (04 Sep 1847).
As Spring upon a silver cloud
Lay looking on the world below,
Watching the breezes as they bowed
The buds and blossoms to and fro,
She saw the fields with Hawthorns walled;
Said Spring, "'New buds I will create."
She to a Flower-spirit called,
Who on the month of May did wait,
And bade her fetch a Hawthorn spray,
That she might make the buds of May.
Said Spring, "The grass looks green and bright,
The hawthorn hedges too are green,
I'll sprinkle them with flowers of light,
Such stars as earth hath never seen;
And all through England's girded vales,
Her steep hill-sides and haunted streams,
Where woodlands dip into the dales,
Where'er the Hawthorn stands and dreams,
Where thick-leaved trees make dark the day,
I'll light each nook with flowers of May.
"Like pearly dew-drops, white and round,
The shut-up buds shall first appear,
And in them be such fragrance found
As breeze before did never bear;
Such as in Eden only dwelt,
When angels hovered round its bowers,
And long-haired Eve at morning knelt
In innocence amid the flowers;
While the whole air was every way
Fill'd with a perfume sweet as May.
"And oft shall groups of children come,
Threading their way through shady places,
From many a peaceful English home,
The sunshine falling on their faces;
Starting with merry voice the thrush,
As through green lanes they wander singing,
To gather the sweet Hawthorn-bush,
Which homeward in the evening bringing,
With smiling faces, they shall say,
'There's nothing half so sweet as May.'
"And many a poet yet unborn
Shall link its name with some sweet lay,
And lovers oft at early morn
Shall gather blossoms of the May,
With eyes bright as the silver dews
Which on the rounded May-buds sleep;
And lips, whose parted smiles diffuse
A sunshine o'er the watch they keep,
Shall open all their white array
Of pearls, ranged like the buds of May."
Spring shook the cloud on which she lay,
And silvered o'er the Hawthorn spray,
Then showered down the buds of May.