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 --
Unto the different dawn!
