Music: Igor Stravinsky
The woods are green
and bird and beast at play
for all things keep
this festival of May.
With fragrant odours
and with notes of cheer,
the pious earth
observes the solemn year.
Now is the season
when the Cyprian Queen
with genial charm
translates our mortal scene,
when swains their nymphs
in fervent arms enfold
and with a kiss restore the Age of Gold.
How sweet within the budding grove
How sweet beside the pliant stream
to walk, to love/to lie, to dream.
Oh may a father's prudent fears
unfounded prove,
and ready vows and loving looks
be all they seem.
In youth we fancy
we are wise,
but time has shown, alas,
too often and too late,
we have not known the hearts
of others or our own.
Love tells no lies.
And in love's eyes
we see our future state,
ever happy, ever fair:
sorrow, hate, disdain, despair,
rule not there.
But love alone reigns o'er his own.