“Sweet, thou art pale.” “More pale to see, Christ hung upon the cruel tree And bore His Father’s wrath for m… “Sweet, thou art sad.”

Young Love lies sleeping In May—time of the year, Among the lilies, Lapped in the tender light: White lambs come grazing,

There’s snow on the fields, And cold in the cottage, While I sit in the chimney nook Supping hot pottage. My clothes are soft and warm,

Is the moon tired? she looks so pa… Within her misty veil: She scales the sky from east to we… And takes no rest. Before the coming of the night

Hope is like a harebell trembling… Love is like a rose the joy of all… Faith is like a lily lifted high a… Love is like a lovely rose the wor… Harebells and sweet lilies show a…

There is but one May in the year, And sometimes May is wet and cold… There is but one May in the year Before the year grows old. Yet though it be the chilliest Ma…

Unmindful of the roses, Unmindful of the thorn, A reaper tired reposes Among his gathered corn: So might I, till the morn!

But give me holly, bold and jolly, Honest, prickly, shining holly; Pluck me holly leaf and berry For the day when I make merry

What does the bee do? Bring home honey. And what does Father do? Bring home money. And what does Mother do?

Love, strong as Death, is dead. Come, let us make his bed Among the dying flowers: A green turf at his head; And a stone at his feet,

There is but one May in the year, And sometimes May is wet and cold… There is but one May in the year Before the year grows old. Yet though it be the chilliest Ma…

I nursed it in my bosom while it l… I hid it in my heart when it was d… In joy I sat alone, even so I gri… Alone and nothing said. I shut the door to face the naked…