By Luis G. Dato
The Cross of May, the Cross of May,
Time flies and passes, you shall stay,
To shed upon the tawdry scene
The lustre of your light serene.
Month of the flowers, month of prayer,
Your mirth of old has filled the air,
Young maidens decked with cross and rose,
Hid Youth to sin beneath May’s Cross.
O Cross of May, the youth forgive,
If they forget, and live, let live,
Blame all upon the flowers’ perfume,
Or flame of youth, the maids in bloom.
Month of the dance, O month of kisses,
How the days fly which no one misses,
As smile on lips and rose on hair,
Beauty tempts Youth to love, to dare.
Month of bright stars, of the white moon,
The night regrets day comes too soon,
Fickle of heart, inconstant lover,
Love found so soon is love soon over.
For Time shall come as the years fly,
To cloud the brightest memory,
And eyes grow dim, but you shall stay,
O Cross of May, O Cross of May.
