Words, Words, Mere Words, No

On A Day - Alack The Day! - Love, Whose Month Is Ever May, Spied A Blossom Passing Fair Playing In The Wanton Air

Men Have Died From Time To Time, And Worms Have Eaten Them, But Not For Love.

The Worm Is Not To Be Trusted.

The Even Mead, That Erst Brought Sweetly Forth The Freckled Cowslip, Burnet, And Green Clover, Wanting The Scythe, All Uncorrected, Rank, Conceives By Idleness, And Nothing Teems But Hateful Docks, Rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burrs, Losing Both Beauty And Utility.

As Full Of Spirit As The Month Of May, And As Gorgeous As The Sun In Midsummer.