“It was a beautiful summer afternoon, at that delicious period of the year when summer has just burst forth from the growth of spring; when summer is yet but three days old, and all the various shades of green which nature can put forth are still in their unsoiled purity of freshness. The apple blossoms were on the trees, and the hedges were sweet with may. The cuckoo at fine o’clock was still sounding his soft summer call with unabated energy, and even the common grasses of the hedgerows were sweet with the fragrance of their new growth. The foliage of the oaks was complete, so that every bough and twig was clothed; but the leave did not yet hang heavy in masses, and the bend of every bough and the tapering curve of every twig were visible through their light green covering. There is no time of the year equal in beauty to the first week in summer; and no color which nature gives, not even the gorgeous hues of autumn, which can equal the verdure produced by the first warm suns of May.”
~Framley Parsonage by Anthony Trollope, p.335
The royal roses redden
“In Maytime” by Frank L. Stanton
And smiling deck the sod,
The world is like a picture
Where the green fields smile to God;
The birds in all the branches
Are singing to the blue,
And the winds that wave the tree-tops
Toss the blossoms over you.
Oh, the splendor of the gardens
And the glory of the green,
Of banks of singing rivers
Where the lovely lilies lean!
The tinkle, faintly wafted,
Of far-off cattle bells,
And the thrushes’ silver music
In the dim and dreamy dells!
For it’s Maytime, it’s Maytime,
And all the world is bright,
And love is in the sunshine,
And the golden stars of night.