 | Poems |  |
101
MAY.
On blythe May morning, when the lark's first note
Ascends, on viewless wing, veiled in the mist,
The village maids then hie them to the woods,
To kiss the fresh dew from the daisy's brim;
Wandering in misty glades they lose their way,
And, ere aware, meet in their lovers' arms,
Like joining dew-drops on the blushing rose.
Ascends, on viewless wing, veiled in the mist,
The village maids then hie them to the woods,
To kiss the fresh dew from the daisy's brim;
Wandering in misty glades they lose their way,
And, ere aware, meet in their lovers' arms,
Like joining dew-drops on the blushing rose.
Sweet month! thy locks with bursting buds bedecked,
With opening hyacinths, and hawthorn blooms,
Fair still thou art, though showers bedim thine eye;
The cloud soon quits thy brow, and, mild, the sun
Looks out with watery beam, looks out, and smiles.
With opening hyacinths, and hawthorn blooms,
Fair still thou art, though showers bedim thine eye;
The cloud soon quits thy brow, and, mild, the sun
Looks out with watery beam, looks out, and smiles.
102
Now, from the wild flower bank, the little bird
Picks the soft moss, and to the thicket flies;
And oft returns, and oft the work renews,
Till all the curious fabric hangs complete:
Alas! but ill concealed from schoolboy's eye,
Who, heedless of the warbler's saddest plaint,
Tears from the bush the toil of many an hour;
Then, thoughtless wretch! pursues the devious bee,
Buzzing from flower to flower: She wings her flight,
Far from his following eye, to walled parterres,
Where, undisturbed, she revels 'mid the beds
Of full-blown lilies, doomed to die unculled,
Save when the stooping fair (more beauteous flower!)
The bosom's rival brightness half betrays,
While chusing 'mong the gently bending stalks,
The snowy hand a sister blossom seems.
Picks the soft moss, and to the thicket flies;
And oft returns, and oft the work renews,
Till all the curious fabric hangs complete:
Alas! but ill concealed from schoolboy's eye,
Who, heedless of the warbler's saddest plaint,
Tears from the bush the toil of many an hour;
Then, thoughtless wretch! pursues the devious bee,
Buzzing from flower to flower: She wings her flight,
Far from his following eye, to walled parterres,
Where, undisturbed, she revels 'mid the beds
Of full-blown lilies, doomed to die unculled,
Save when the stooping fair (more beauteous flower!)
The bosom's rival brightness half betrays,
While chusing 'mong the gently bending stalks,
The snowy hand a sister blossom seems.
More sweet to me the lily's meekened grace
Than gaudy hues, brilliant as summer clouds
Around the sinking sun: to me more sweet
Than garish day, the twilight's softened grace,
When deepening shades obscure the dusky woods;
Then comes the silence of the dewy hour,
With songs of noontide birds, thrilling in fancy's ear,
While from yon elm, with water-kissing boughs,
Along the moveless winding of the brook,
The smooth expanse is calmness, stillness all,
Unless the springing trout, with quick replunge,
Arousing meditation's downward look,
Ruffle, with many a gently circling wave
On wave, the glassy surface undulating far.
Than gaudy hues, brilliant as summer clouds
Around the sinking sun: to me more sweet
Than garish day, the twilight's softened grace,
When deepening shades obscure the dusky woods;
Then comes the silence of the dewy hour,
With songs of noontide birds, thrilling in fancy's ear,
While from yon elm, with water-kissing boughs,
Along the moveless winding of the brook,
103
Unless the springing trout, with quick replunge,
Arousing meditation's downward look,
Ruffle, with many a gently circling wave
On wave, the glassy surface undulating far.
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