May

Hebe's here, May is here!
The air is fresh and sunny;
And the miser-bees are busy
Hoarding golden honey.

See the knots of buttercups,
And the purple pansies—
Thick as these, within my brain,
Grow the wildest fancies.

Let me write my songs to-day.
Rhymes with dulcet closes—
Four-line epics one might hide
In the hearts of roses.