Oh, softly blow, ye breezes

BATONI, Pompeo

Madonna

Anticipation

By Denis A. McCarthy

Oh, softly blow, ye breezes,

Ye breezes of the spring,

Till every blossom breaks to hear

The joyful news you bring,

The news that winters dreary reign

Is dead and passed away,

That now the sun will shine upon

Our Lady's month of May.

Oh, sing ye birds of springtime

In every glade and glen,

Let every warbler of the wood

Take heart and sing again,

Until your chorus far and wide

Makes musical the day;

From hill and dale, oh sing and hail

Our Lady's month of May.

Oh, softly flow, ye streamlets,

By wood and meadow flow,

And whisper to the grasses all

So timidly that grow,

Yea, whisper to them all, and call

Them forth without delay,

For vale and lea must verdant be

In Mary's month of May.