She lifts to-day her fairy bells
For balmy winds to sway,
And round her cells the brown bee tells
The music of the May.
She treasures in her snowy cup
The sunbeam's golden light,
And brims the dainty chalice up
With starry pearls of night.
She calls my heart as in a trance
To years long passed away;
I feel once more the gentle glance
That lit my life's young day.
O blooms so sweet, the blooms she wore —
And she as fair as they! —
Your spell can give my heart no more
The lily of its May!
