text:  He with his tepid rays the rose renews And licks the drooping leaves and dries the dews; When Arcite left his bed resolved to pay Observance to the month of merry May: Forth on his fiery steed betimes he rode That scarcely prints the turf on which he trode: At ease he seem'd and prancing o'er the plains Turn'd only to the grove his horse's reins The grove I named before and lighting there A woodbine garland sought to crown his hair; Then turn'd his face against the rising day And raised his voice to welcome in the May:-- For thee sweet month the groves green liveries wear If not the first the fairest of the year: For thee the Graces lead the dancing hours And Nature's ready pencil paints the flowers: When thy short reign is past the feverish sun The sultry tropic fears and moves more slowly on