Sweet May hath come to love us

Sweet May hath come to love us,
Flowers, trees, their blossoms don;
And through the blue heavens above us
The very clouds move on.
Heinrich Heine, Book of Songs

At last we have reached the merry month of May.  This is the time when Spring really has sprung in England.  March is usually too cold or wet for anything much other than snowdrops, April has the joys of daffodils, primroses and forsythia and the trees start to bud.  It is in lovely gentle May that sees the trees bursting with new leaves and blossom exploding all around.  It is May Day today and as if on cue, the sky is blue, the sun is warm and clear and the birds are loud and joyful.

Flowering currant, forget-me-not and pansy.  And a hint of my patchwork cushion, as yet unfinished

Now every field is clothed with grass, and every tree with leaves; now the woods put forth their blossoms, and the year assumes its gay attire.
Virgil

 

"When April steps aside for May,
Like diamonds all the rain-drops glisten;
Fresh violets open every day:
To some new bird each hour we listen."
- Lucy Larcom

 

 

 

"Winter is many months of the year
But now at last Maytime is here;
And birds sing from a leafy screen
In the trees and hedgerow freshly green;
And the wood-anemone is out in the shade,
With its blushing petals which too soon fade;
Once more the bracken is unfurling there,
And bluebells gently perfume the damp air."
- Veronica Ann Twells, Maytime

 

It was the month of May, the month when the foliage of herbs and trees is most freshly green, when buds ripened and blossoms appear in their fragrance and loveliness

Sir Thomas Malory, La Morte d'Arthur