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Little Effe 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

still, And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the

hill, And the rivulet in the lowery 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, Tomorrow ’ill be the happiest time of all the glad

New-year: To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest, mer

riest 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 Newyear. 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;

hazel copse,

And we danced about the May-pole and in the Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white


IV. 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.

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The building rook 'ill caw from the windy tall elni

tree, 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 moulder

ing 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




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

night; When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow

cool On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bul.

rush in the pool.


You'll bury me, iny 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


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

wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have

another child.

I go:


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

place; Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon Though I cannot speak a word, I shall harken what

you say,
And be often, often with you


think I'm

your face ;

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



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 New

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




I Thought to pass away before, and yet alive 1

am; And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of

the lamb. How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the


To die before the snowdrop came, and now the

violet's here.


O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the

skies, And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that

cannot rise,

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