There is a morn by men unseen - Whose maids upon remoter green Keep their seraphic May - And all day long, with dance and game, And gambol I may never name - Employ their holiday. Here to light measure, move the feet Which walk no more the village street - Nor by the wood are found - Here are the birds that sought the sun When last year's distaff idle hung And summer's brows were bound.
Ne'er saw I such a wondrous scene - Ne'er such a ring on such a green - Nor so serene array - As if the stars some summer night Should swing their cups of Chrysolite - And revel till the day -
Like thee to dance - like thee to sing - People upon the mystic green - I ask, each new May morn. I wait thy far - fantastic bells - Announcing me in other dells - Unto the different dawn!
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