"Sweet May hath come to love us, Flowers, trees, their blossoms don; And through the blue heavens above us The very clouds move on."

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Ah! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May: Waiting for the pleasant rambles Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles, Where the woodbine alternating, Scent the dewy way; Ah! my heart is weary, waiting, Waiting for the May.

— Denis Florence MacCarthy