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And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps

and hollows gray, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o' the May.


The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow

grass, And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as

they pass ; There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong

day, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o' the May.

All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still, And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill, And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance

and play, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I 'm to be

Queen o' the May.


So you must wake and call me early, call me early,

mother dear, To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad

New-year: To-morrow ’ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day, For I’m to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be

Queen o' the May.



If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear,
For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year.
It is the last New-year that I shall ever see,
Then you may lay me low i' the mould and think no more

of me.


To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind
The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace

of mind; And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I shall

never see

The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.


Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry

day; Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen

of May; And we danced about the may-pole and in the hazel

copse, Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white



There 's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on the

pane: I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again: I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on

high: I long to see a flower so before the day I die.


The building rook ’ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree,
And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,
And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'


the wave,

But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.


Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine, In the early early morning the summer sun ’ill shine, Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill, When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is



When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the

waning light You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night; When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush

in the pool.


You ’ll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn

shade, And

you .'ll come sometimes and see me where I am

lowly laid. I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you


you pass, With

feet above


head in the long and pleasant grass.

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