The voice of one who goes before, to make
The paths of June more beautiful, is thine,
HELEN HUNT: _May._
The new-born May,
As cradled yet in April's lap she lay.
Born in yon blaze of orient sky,
Sweet May! thy radiant form unfold,
Unclose thy blue voluptuous eye,
And wave thy shadowy locks of gold.
ERASMUS DARWIN: _L. of the Plants,_ Canto ii., Line 307.
Now the bright morning-star, Day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who, from her green lap, throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
MILTON: _Song on May Morning._