Thou ancient beech with moss o'ergrown, How do I envy thee thy throne, Found worthy to receive such happiness! Ye winds, how blissful must ye be, Since ye have borne to heaven her harmony! The winds that music bore, And wafted it to God on high, That Paradise might have the joy thereof. Flowers here she plucked, and wore Wild roses from the thorn hard by: This air she lightened with her look of love: This running stream above, She bent her face!--Ah me! Where am I? What sweet makes me swoon? What calm is in the kiss of noon? Who brought me here? Who speaks? What melody? Whence came pure peace into my soul? What joy hath rapt me from my own control? Poliziano's refrain is always: 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. It is spring-time now and youth. Winter and old age are coming!' A _Maggio_, or May-day song, describing the games, dances, and jousting matches of the Florentine lads upon the morning of the first of May, expresses this facile philosophy of life with a quaintness that recalls Herrick. It will be noticed that the Maggio is built, so far as rhymes go, on the same system as Poliziano's Ballata. It has considerable historical interest, for the opening couplet is said to be Guido Cavalcanti's, while the whole poem is claimed by Roscoe for Lorenzo de' Medici, and by Carducci with better reason for Poliziano. Welcome in the May And the woodland garland gay! Welcome in the jocund spring Which bids all men lovers be! Maidens, up with carolling, With your sweethearts stout and free, With roses and with blossoms ye Who deck yourselves this first of May! Up, and forth into the pure Meadows, mid the trees and flowers! Every beauty is secure With so many bachelors: Beasts and birds amid the bowers Burn with love this first of May. Maidens, who are young and fair, Be not harsh, I counsel you; For your youth cannot repair Her prime of spring, as meadows do: None be proud, but all be true To men who love, this first of May. Dance and carol every one Of our band so bright and gay! See your sweethearts how they run Through the jousts for you to-day! She who saith her lover nay, Will deflower the sweets of May, Lads in love take sword and shield To make pretty girls their prize: Yield ye, merry maidens, yield To your lovers' vows and sighs: Give his heart back ere it dies: Wage not war this first of May. He who steals another's heart, Let him give his own heart too: Who's the robber? 'Tis the smart Little cherub Cupid, who Homage comes to pay with you, Damsels, to the first of May. Love comes smiling; round his head Lilies white and roses meet: 'Tis for you his flight is sped. Fair one, haste our king to greet: Who will fling him blossoms sweet Soonest on this first of May?