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It was May-time; a real 'old-fashioned' English May, such as Spenser and Herrick sang of: "When all is yclad With blossoms; the ground with grass, the woodes With greene leaves; the bushes with blossoming buddes," and when whatever promise our existence yet holds for us, seems far enough away to inspire ambition, yet close enough to encourage fair dreams of fulfilment.
Enforst to seeke some covert nigh at hand, A shadic grove not farr away they spide, That promist ayde the tempest to withstand; Whose loftie trees, yclad with sommers pride, Did spred so broad, that heavens light did hide, Not perceable with power of any starr: And all within were pathes and alleies wide, With footing worne, and leading inward farr; Faire harbour that them seems; so in they entered ar.
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