University of Virginia Library

The First of May

May has come, but flowers are rare,
Blooming only here and there,
In some sheltered, sunny spot,
Where the bleak winds reach them not.
Still the pastures pale and dry
With no verdure greet the eye,
Only on the turnpike seen
Narrow borders touched with green.
E'en the savins, hardy band,
Winter-killed and blasted stand;
And their green has yellow turned,
As by fire their boughs were burned.
But the children, on the hill
Love to keep the May-day still;
Love to search the fields around,
Though no flowers by them are found.
In vain they ask of passer-by,
Where is the anemony?
Where the violet's deep blue?
None can show them, but the few,
Who their favorite haunts may know,
And can tell them where to go.
There, though Spring elsewhere delays,
Each their beauteous tints displays;
And upon the breeze their bloom
Sheds its delicate perfume.
Call not then the custom vain,
For to seek is still to gain:
Though we find not that we prize,
In the seeking pleasure lies.
They who seek shall ever find
Health of body and of mind;
They who will not ask, nor seek,
Live in mind and body weak.