O spread thy green mantle, sweet May, o'er the ground,
Drive the blasts of bleak winter away,
Let the birds sweetly carol thy flow'rets around,
And let us with all Nature be gay.

Let spleen, spite and envy, those clouds of the mind,
Be dispers'd by the sunshine of joy;
The pleasures of Eden had blessed humankind,
Had no fiend enter'd there to destroy.

As May with her sunshine can warm the cold earth,
Let each fair with the season improve.
Be the widows restored from their mourning to mirth,
And let hard-hearted maids yield to love.

In spring's choicest treasures the village be dressed;
Festive joy let the season impart;
When rapture mounts high and o'erflows from each breast,
'Tis the May, the sweet May of the heart.