Kiss me, sweetheart; the Spring is here,
And Love is Lord of you and me,
The blue-bells beckon each passing bee.
The wild wood laughs to the flowered year,
There is no bird in brake or brere,
But to his little mate sings he:
"Kiss me, sweetheart; the Spring is here,
And Love is Lord of you and me!"
The blue sky laughs out sweet and clear,
The misselbird upon the tree
Pipes for sheer gladness, loud and free.
And I go singing to my dear:
"Kiss me, sweetheart; the Spring is here,
And Love is Lord of you and me."