The Last of May
By fate’s benevolent award,
Should I survive the day,
I’ll drink a bumper with my lord
Upon the last of May.
That I may reach that happy time
The kindly gods I pray,
For are not ducks and pease in prime
Upon the last of May?
At thirty boards, 'twixt now and then,
My knife and fork shall play;
But better wine and better men
I shall not meet in May.
And though, good friend, with whom I dine,
Your honest head is gray,
And, like this grizzled head of mine,
Has seen its last of May;
Yet, with a heart that’s ever kind,
A gentle spirit gay,
You’ve spring perennial in your mind,
And round you make a May!
