May

Would that thou couldst last for aye,
Merry, ever-merry May!
Made of sun-gleams, shade, and showers,
Bursting buds, and breathing flowers;
Dripping-lock'd, and rosy-vested,
Violet-slipper'd, rainbow-crested;
Girdled with the eglantine,
Festoon'd with the dewy vine:
Merry, ever-merry May,
Would that thou couldst last for aye!
Out beneath thy morning sky
Dian's bow still hangs on high;
And in the blue depths afar
Glimmers, here and there, a star.
Diamonds robe the bending grass,
Glistening, early flowers among —
Monad's world, and fairy's glass, —
Bathing-fount for wandering sprite —
By mysterious fingers hung,
In the lone and quiet night.
Now the freshening breezes pass —
Gathering, as they steal along,
Rich perfume, and matin-song;
And quickly to destruction hurl'd
Is fairy's diamond glass, and monad's dew-drop world.
Lo! yon cloud, which hung but now
Black upon the mountain's brow,
Threatening the green earth with storm;
See! it heaves its giant form,
And, ever changing shape and hue,
Each time presenting something new,
Moves slowly up, and spreading rolls away
Towards the rich purple streaks that usher in the day;
Brightening, as it onward goes,
Until its very centre glows
With the warm, cheering light, the coming sun bestows:
As the passing Christian's soul,
Nearing the celestial goal,
Brighter and brighter grows, till God illumes the whole.
Out beneath thy noontide sky,
On a shady slope I lie,
Giving fancy ample play;
Arid there 's not more blest than I,
One of Adam's race to-day.
Out beneath thy noontide sky!
Earth, how beautiful! how clear
Of cloud or mist the atmosphere!
What z glory greets the eye!
What a calm, or quiet stir,
Steals' o'er Nature's worshipper —
Silent, yet so eloquent,
That we feel 'tis heaven-sent!
Waking thoughts, that long have slumber'd,
Passion-dimm'd and earth-encumber' d —
Bearing soul and sense away,
To revel in the perfect day
Which 'waits us, when we shall for aye
Discard this darksome dust — this prison-house of clay!
Out beneath thy evening sky,
Not a breeze that wanders by
But hath swept the green earth's bosom;
Rifling the rich grape-vine blossom,
Dallying with the simplest flower
In mossy nook and rosy bower;
To the perfumed green-house straying,
And with rich exotics playing;
Then, unsated, sweeping over
Banks of thyme, and fields of clover!
Out beneath thy evening sky,
Groups of children caper by,
Crown'd with flowers, and rush along
With joyous laugh, and shout, and song.
Flashing eye, and radiant cheek,
Spirits all unsunn'd bespeak.
They are in life's May-month hours,
And those wild bursts of joy, what are they but
life's flowers '.'
Would that thou couldst last for aye,
Merry, ever-merry May!
Made of sun-gleams, shade, and showers,
Bursting buds, and breathing flowers;
Dripping-lock'd, and rosy-vested,
Violet-slipper'd, rainbow-crested;
Girdled with the eglantine,
Festoon'd with the dewy vine:
Merry, ever-merry May,
Would that thou couldst last for aye!