Classic Poem

With many a bud and posy,
O May is come anew!
And clouds are sailing rosy,
Above in heaven's blue.

The nightingales are singing
From their high, embowered seat;
The lambkins white are springing
In the clover green and sweet.

Too sick for singing, springing,
Alone on a grassy spot,
I hear a distant ringing,
And dream, I know not what.