All things rejoice this month of May
Except, alas, it seems, for me!
Who have not him with me today
I once had, so sigh so softly.
He was my dear love, sweet to see,
And now he’s so far removed.
Alas! Come soon, again, my love.

On the fresh turf let’s go and play,
In this sweet month of greenery,
Where we shall hear the nightingale,
And many a lark, sing joyfully,
You know where. Once more my plea
In truest tones, ah me, I move.
‘Alas! Come soon, again, my love.’

For in this month where Love displays
Many a prize, there’s a duty
On him who loves to joy today
With the darling who’s his lady:
And not a day, it seems to me,
Or half a day, himself remove.
Alas! Come soon, again, my love.

My heart’s breaking, for love of you:
Alas! Come soon, again, my love.