Dear lilac-tree, a-spreaden wide
Thy purple blooth on ev'ry zide,
As if the hollow sky did shed
Its blue upon thy flow'ry head;
Oh! whether I mid sheaere wi' thee
Thy open air, my bloomen tree,
Or zee thy blossoms vrom the gloom,
'Ithin my zunless worken-room,
My heart do leaep, but leaep wi' sighs,
At zight o' thee avore my eyes,
For when thy grey-blue head do sway
In cloudless light, 'tis Spring, 'tis May.
'Tis Spring, 'tis May, as May woonce shed
His glowen light above thy head—
When thy green boughs, wi' bloomy tips,
Did sheaede my childern's laughen lips;
A-screenen vrom the noonday gleaere
Their rwosy cheaeks an' glossy heaeir;
The while their mother's needle sped,
Too quick vor zight, the snow-white thread,
Unless her han', wi' loven ceaere,
Did smooth their little heads o' heaeir;
Or wi' a sheaeke, tie up anew
Vor zome wild voot, a slippen shoe;
An' I did leaen bezide thy mound
Ageaen the deaesy-dappled ground,
The while the woaken clock did tick
My hour o' rest away too quick,
An' call me off to work anew,
Wi' slowly-ringen strokes, woone, two.
Zoo let me zee noo darksome cloud
Bedim to-day thy flow'ry sh'oud,
But let en bloom on ev'ry spray,
Drough all the days o' zunny May.