Full Lyrics
’Tis Mayday morn, the lark’s awake,
And with the sun’s conferring;
So let’s, for bonnie custom’s sake,
Be at our revels stirring!
Come, gather sprays of roses rare,
Ere yet the wild bee’s sipping;
For each a witching wreath must wear,
Around the Maypole tripping!
Here comes our Queen with violet eyes,
And raven tresses flowing;
She’d grace a throne’s imperial guise,
And set crown’d heads awooing!
Vale lilies not more pure than she,
Around her brows are dipping;
So, hands enchain’d, her courtiers we
Must in her train be tripping!
Then round, around the garland tree,
With flow’rs and ribands streaming,
We foot the dance right merrilie,
Each face with gladness beaming!
And thus our revels gay we court,
Till e’en the stars are skipping;
And eve at last benights our sport,
Around the Maypole tripping!
