PART ONE
'T was late at eve . . . the first of May,
A night in May . . . 'twas time for love.
A love lure sang the turtle-dove,
Where scented pine groves stretched away.
The tranquil moss sighed love's lament;
Love's sorrow shammed the blooming tree.
A nightingale sang love's melody,
While a rose replied with love's sweet scent.
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