Kiss me, sweetheart

Kiss me, sweetheart; the Spring is here,

And Love is Lord of you and me,

The blue-bells beckon each passing bee.

The wild wood laughs to the flowered year,

There is no bird in brake or brere,

But to his little mate sings he:

"Kiss me, sweetheart; the Spring is here,

And Love is Lord of you and me!"

The blue sky laughs out sweet and clear,

The missel-thrush upon the tree

Pipes for mere gladness, loud and free.

And I go singing to my dear:

"Kiss me, sweetheart; the Spring is here,

And Love is Lord of you and me."