May is one of the months that receives the most attention from medieval poets, including Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde:
In May, that moder is of monthes glade,
That fresshe floures, blew and white and rede,
Ben quike agayn, that wynter dede made,
And ful of bawme is ffetyng euery mede...
It's May, the lusty month of May
That darling month when everyone throws self-control away
It's time to do a wretched thing or two
And try to make each precious day, one you'll always rue
It's May, it's May, the month of yes you may
The time for every frivolous whim, proper or im
It's wild, it's gay, a blot in every way
The birds and bees with all of their vast amorous past
Gaze at the human race aghast.
I'm sure Chaucer and Tennyson would be horrified, but I've always had a soft spot for this joyous musical!

