 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
THE LOVER'S MAY-SONG.
As after the winter
So wild and so dread,
One waits by the lily
Fast froze in the bed
Of the garden, for some
Little leaf to appear,
So I wait, by my dear.
So wild and so dread,
One waits by the lily
Fast froze in the bed
Of the garden, for some
Little leaf to appear,
So I wait, by my dear.
Now soft airs are thawing
The icicles down
From the eaves, and the swallows
So bright and so brown,
Ere long in their places
Will twitter and sing,
Bill to bill—wing to wing.
The icicles down
From the eaves, and the swallows
So bright and so brown,
Ere long in their places
Will twitter and sing,
Bill to bill—wing to wing.
The low-cornel up through
The dead leaves will shoot,
And turn her whole heart
Into scarlet-hued fruit,
As the sun her white bosom
Makes quick with a kiss—
Think, my darling, of this!
The dead leaves will shoot,
And turn her whole heart
Into scarlet-hued fruit,
238
Makes quick with a kiss—
Think, my darling, of this!
And think of the dear little
Rose-colored things,
That will lie all atremble
Like butterfly wings,
Because of their joy in
The beds of the moss,
And, my love, be not cross.
Rose-colored things,
That will lie all atremble
Like butterfly wings,
Because of their joy in
The beds of the moss,
And, my love, be not cross.
And think of the May-star,
That wears, like a queen,
Her pearls in a setting
Of emerald green—
How she gathers her tenderness
Out of the snow,
And you cannot say no.
That wears, like a queen,
Her pearls in a setting
Of emerald green—
How she gathers her tenderness
Out of the snow,
And you cannot say no.
And think of the cool-wort,
So timid and sweet,
How she cometh almost
In the face of the sleet,
The grace of her healing
On sick hearts to press,
And you needs must say yes.
So timid and sweet,
How she cometh almost
In the face of the sleet,
The grace of her healing
On sick hearts to press,
And you needs must say yes.
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |