John Ireland - The Sweet Season

When May is in his prime, then may each heart rejoice
When May bedecks each branch with green, each bird strains forth his voice
The lively sap creeps up into the blooming thorn
The flowers, which cold in prison kept, now laugh the frost to scorn
All nature's imps triumph while joyful May doth last;
When May is gone, of all the year the pleasant time is past

May makes the cheerful hue, May breeds and brings new blood
May marcheth throughout every limb, May makes the merry mood
May prieketh tender hearts their warbling notes to tune
Full strange it is, yet some we see do make their May in June
Thus things are strangely wrought while joyful May doth last;
Take May in time, when May is gone the pleasant time is past

All ye that live on earth, and have your May at will
Rejoice in May, as I do now, and use your May with skill
Use May while that you may, for May hath but his time
When all the fruit is gone, it is too late the tree to climb
Your liking and your lust is fresh while May doth last;
When May is gone, of all the year the pleasant time is past