Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
GET up, get up for shame! The blooming morn | |
Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. | |
See how Aurora throws her fair | |
Fresh-quilted colours through the air: | |
Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see | 5 |
The dew bespangling herb and tree! | |
Each flower has wept and bow’d toward the east | |
Above an hour since, yet you not drest; | |
Nay! not so much as out of bed? | |
When all the birds have matins said | 10 |
And sung their thankful hymns, ’tis sin, | |
Nay, profanation, to keep in, | |
Whereas a thousand virgins on this day | |
Spring sooner than the lark, to fetch in May. | |
|
Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen | 15 |
To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and green, | |
And sweet as Flora. Take no care | |
For jewels for your gown or hair: | |
Fear not; the leaves will strew | |
Gems in abundance upon you: | 20 |
Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, | |
Against you come, some orient pearls unwept. | |
Come, and receive them while the light | |
Hangs on the dew-locks of the night: | |
And Titan on the eastern hill | 25 |
Retires himself, or else stands still | |
Till you come forth! Wash, dress, be brief in praying: | |
Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying. | |
|
Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark | |
How each field turns a street, each street a park, | 30 |
Made green and trimm’d with trees! see how | |
Devotion gives each house a bough | |
Or branch! each porch, each door, ere this, | |
An ark, a tabernacle is, | |
Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove, | 35 |
As if here were those cooler shades of love. | |
Can such delights be in the street | |
And open fields, and we not see ‘t? | |
Come, we’ll abroad: and let ‘s obey | |
The proclamation made for May, | 40 |
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; | |
But, my Corinna, come, let ‘s go a-Maying. | |
|
There ‘s not a budding boy or girl this day | |
But is got up and gone to bring in May. | |
A deal of youth ere this is come | 45 |
Back, and with white-thorn laden home. | |
Some have despatch’d their cakes and cream, | |
Before that we have left to dream: | |
And some have wept and woo’d, and plighted troth, | |
And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth: | 50 |
Many a green-gown has been given, | |
Many a kiss, both odd and even: | |
Many a glance, too, has been sent | |
From out the eye, love’s firmament: | |
Many a jest told of the keys betraying | 55 |
This night, and locks pick’d: yet we’re not a-Maying! | |
|
Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, | |
And take the harmless folly of the time! | |
We shall grow old apace, and die | |
Before we know our liberty. | 60 |
Our life is short, and our days run | |
As fast away as does the sun. | |
And, as a vapour or a drop of rain, | |
Once lost, can ne’er be found again, | |
So when or you or I are made | 65 |
A fable, song, or fleeting shade, | |
All love, all liking, all delight | |
Lies drown’d with us in endless night. | |
Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying, | |
Come, my Corinna, come, let ‘s go a-Maying. | 70 |