In my autobiography I mentioned that my favourite poem was ‘The Brook’ by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and I often wondered whether he had written anything else that I would like as much. Then, on 17th April, 2021 I recalled the phrase ‘Wake me early mother dear’ and looked it up in the internet to find out where it originated. I found that it came from a poem by Tennyson that was very much what I had been seeking for so long. The remarkable thing is that the exact phrase I typed in does not appear in the poem. I can see that a human being who was familiar with the poem could do this, but I would have thought that for a machine to do it would be absolutely impossible. The poem was submitted, appropriately, on 1st May, 2021 and appeared here on May 14th. Here it is:

The May Queen by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
To-morrow’ll be the happiest time of all the glad new-year,—
Of all the glad new-year, mother, the maddest, merriest day;
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

There’s many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;
There’s Margaret and Mary, there’s Kate and Caroline;
But none so fair as little Alice in all the land, they say:
So I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,
If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break;
But I must gather knots of flowers and buds, and garlands gay;
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

As I came up the valley, whom think ye should I see
But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree?
He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday,—
But I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white;
And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light.
They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say,
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

They say he’s dying all for love,—but that can never be;
They say his heart is breaking, mother,—what is that to me?
There’s many a bolder lad’ll woo me any summer day;
And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green,
And you’ll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen;
For the shepherd lads on every side’ll come from far away;
And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

The honeysuckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers,
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers;
And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray;
And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass,
And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass;
There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the livelong day;
And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

All the valley, mother, ’ll be fresh and green and still,
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill,
And the rivulet in the flowery dale’ll merrily glance and play,
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
To-morrow’ll be the happiest time of all the glad new-year;
To-morrow’ll be of all the year the maddest, merriest day,
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother, I’m to be Queen o’ the May.