With wild roses in her dark hair,
Entranced by the magical minstrel June,
May stands in her garden fair.
For June, the herald of summer gay,
Is prince of its minstrelsy;
And never a monarch of ancient day
Wore gaudier robes than he.
Over the hills comes the minstrel June,
Perfuming and thrilling the air;
Sweet may will sink on his breast a-swoon,
And die as he holds her there.
Published in The Crisis, June 1914