On a Whit-sunday morn in the month
of May.
- The sun looked over the highest hills,
- And down in the vales looked he;
- And sprang up blithe all things of life,
- And put forth their energy;
- The flowers creeped out their tender cups,
- And offered their dewy fee;
- And rivers and rills they shimmered along
- Their winding ways to the sea;
- And the little birds their morning song
- Trilled forth from every tree,
- On a Whit-sunday morn in the month of May.
- Lord Thomas he rose and donned his clothes;
- For he was a sleepless man:
- And ever he tried to change his thoughts,
- Yet ever they one way ran
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- He to catch the breeze through the apple trees,
- By the orchard path did stray,
- Till he was aware of a lady there
- Came walking adown that way:
- Out gushed the song the trees among
- Then soared and sank away,
- On a Whit-sunday morn in the month of May.
- With eyes down-cast care-slow she came,
- Heedless of shine or shade,
- Or the dewy grass that wetted her feet,
- And heavy her dress all made:
- Oh trembled the song the trees among,
- And all at once was stayed,
- On a Whit-sunday morn in the month of May.
- Lord Thomas he was a truth-fast knight,
- And a calm-eyed man was he.
- He pledged his troth to his mother's maid
- A damsel of low degree:
- He spoke her fair, he spoke her true
- And well to him listened she.
- He gave her a kiss, she gave him twain
- All beneath an apple tree:
- The little birds trilled, the little birds filled
- The air with their melody,
- On a Whit-sunday morn in the month of May.
- A goodly sight it was, I ween,
- This loving couple to see,
- For he was a tall and a stately man,
- And a queenly shape had she.
- With arms each laced round other's waist,
- Through the orchard paths they tread
- With gliding pace, face mixed with face,
- Yet never a word they said:
- Oh! soared the song the birds among,
- And seemed with a rapture sped,
- On a Whit-sunday morn in the month of May.
- The dew-wet grass all through they pass,
- The orchard they compass round;
- Save words like sighs and swimming eyes
- No utterance they found.
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- Upon his chest she leaned her breast,
- And nestled her small, small head,
- And cast a look so sad, that shook
- Him all with the meaning said:
- Oh hushed was the song the trees among,
- As over there sailed a gled,
- On a Whit-sunday morn in the month of May.
- Then forth with a faltering voice there came,
- "Ah would Lord Thomas for thee
- That I were come of a lineage high,
- And not of a low degree."
- Lord Thomas her lips with his fingers touched,
- And stilled her all with his ee':
- "Dear Ella! Dear Ella!" he said,
- "Beyond all my ancestry
- In this dower of thine--that precious thing,
- Dear Ella, thy purity.
- Thee will I wed--lift up thy head--
- All I have I give to thee--
- Yes--all that is mine is also thine--
- My lands and my ancestry."
- The little birds sand and the orchard rang
- With a heavenly melody,
- On a Whit-sunday morn in the month of May.
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Last modified: 23 March 1996