Gay Marigold is frolic, 
She laughs till summer is done ; 
She hears the Grillie chirping 
All day i' the blazing sun. 

But when the pale moon rises, 
She fain her face would hide ; 
For the high Queen of sorrows 
Disdains her empty pride. 

Fair Primrose haunts the shadow 
With children of the Spring, 
Till in the bloomy woodland 
The nightingale will sing. 

And when he lauds the May-night 
And spirits throng the grove, 
The moon shines thro' the branches 
And floods her heart with love.