"All fair lasses have lads to attend 'em,
Jolly, brave dancers who can amend 'em."
"Come together, come, sweet lass,
Let us trip it on the grass."
- Traditional Bryn Mawr May Day Song, last heard by me (and probably frumiousb) on Grand May Day, 1990. The one day when Mawrters wear white.
This morning, though, the greeny grass in my part of the southern Berkshires, or northern Litchfield Hills if you prefer, is white with hoarfrost. Even the hardy spring ephemerals are drooping from the cold. It is shaping up to be a chilly day but bright and clear. If I do end up tripping it on the grass with my sweet lass, we'll likely be bundled up.