A song of May
M. Lang
The year's a little older grown;
And fair white boughs by green ways blown,
In these new days, are no more known.
(Oh, who can bring the May again?)
And we are wiser grown, we two;
Our story's told, each word was true;
And you love me, And I love you.
(Oh, who can bring the May again?)
Was life not sweeter ere we knew?
Yet who, yet who, yet who can bring the May again.