DEAR lilac-tree, a-spreadèn wide

Thy purple blooth on ev'ry zide, bloom

As if the hollow sky did shed

Its blue upon thy flow'ry head;

Oh! whether I mid sheäre wi’ thee may

Thy open aïr, my bloomèn tree,

Or zee thy blossoms vrom the gloom,

'Ithin my zunless workèn-room,

My heart do leäp, but leäp wi’ sighs,

At zight o’ thee avore my eyes,

For when thy grey-blue head do swaÿ

In cloudless light, 'tis Spring, 'tis Maÿ.

'Tis Spring, 'tis Maÿ, as Maÿ woonce shed once

His glowèn light above thy head—

When thy green boughs, wi’ bloomy tips,

Did sheäde my childern's laughèn lips;

A-screenèn vrom the noonday gleäre

Their rwosy cheäks an’ glossy heäir;

The while their mother's needle sped,

Too quick vor zight, the snow-white thread,

Unless her han’, wi’ lovèn ceäre,

Did smooth their little heads o’ heäir;

Or wi’ a sheäke, tie up anew

Vor zome wild voot, a slippèn shoe;

An’ I did leän bezide thy mound

Ageän the deäsy-dappled ground,

The while the woaken clock did tick made of oak

My hour o’ rest away too quick,

An’ call me off to work anew,

Wi’ slowly-ringèn strokes, woone, two. one

Zoo let me zee noo darksome cloud so

Bedim to-day thy flow'ry sh'oud, canopy

But let en bloom on ev'ry spraÿ, it

Drough all the days o’ zunny Maÿ.