Gay Marigold is frolic

Gay Marigold is frolic,

She laughs till summer is done;

She hears the Grillie chirping

All day i' the blazing sun.

But when the pale moon rises,

She fain her face would hide;

For the high Queen of sorrows

Disdains her empty pride.

Fair Primrose haunts the shadow

With children of the Spring,

Till in the bloomy woodland

The nightingale will sing.

And when he lauds the May-night

And spirits throng the grove,

The moon shines thro' the branches

And floods her heart with love.