< Littell's Living Age < Volume 138 < Issue 1777

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

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!

Spectator.Townshend Mayer.

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