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Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green, And you'll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen:

For the shepherd lads on every side 'ill come from far away,

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


The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers,

And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers;

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


And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the


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.



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


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



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 chimney-tops.


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

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 elmi


And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er 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


Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the


When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still.


When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light

You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at


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 haw thorn shade,

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

I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when

you pass,

With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.


I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive

me now;

You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere

I go:

Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be


You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.


If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my restingplace;

Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face;

Though I cannot speak a word, I shall harken what

you say,

And be often, often with you when you think I'm

far away.


Good-night, good-night, when I have said good-night forevermore,

And you see me carried out from the threshold of the door;

Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green:

She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been.


She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor: Let her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never garden more:

But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set

About the parlor-window and the box of migno



Good-night, sweet mother: call me before the day is born.

All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn; But I would see the sun rise upon the glad Newyear,

So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother




I THOUGHT to pass away before, and yet alive I


And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of

the lamb.

How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year!

To die before the snowdrop came, and now the violet's here.


O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the


And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise,

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