Classic Poem

Through meadow-ways as I did tread,
The corn grew in great lustihead,
And hey! the beeches burgeon-ed.
By Godd-es fay, by Godd-es fay!
It is the month, the jolly month,
It is the jolly month of May.

God ripe the wines and corn, I say
And wenches for the marriage-day,
And boys to teach love's comely play.
By Godd-es fay, by Godd-es fay!
It is the month, the jolly month,
It is the jolly month of May.

As I went down by lane and lea,
The daisies reddened so, pardie!
'Blushets!' I said, 'I well do see,
By Godd-es fay, by Godd-es fay!
The thing ye think of in this month,
Heigho! this jolly month of May.'

As down I went by rye and oats,
The blossoms smelt of kisses; throats
Of birds turned kisses into notes;
By Godd-es fay, by Godd-es fay!
The kiss it is a growing flower,
I trow, this jolly month of May!

God send a mouth to every kiss,
Seeing the blossom of this bliss
By gathering doth grow, certes!
By Godd-es fay, by Godd-es fay!
Thy brow-garland pushed all aslant
Tells--but I tell not, wanton May!