The Seasons of the Gods

I sat with May upon a midnight hill
Wrapped in a dusk of unremembered years
And thought on buried April — on the tears
And shrouds of March, and Youth's dead daffodil

All withered on a mound of Spring. And still
The earth moved sweetly in her sleep, the Spheres
Wrought peace about her path, and for her ears
Chimed the high music of their blended will.

The God who dreamed the Earth, as I this frame
That makes me thrall to death and coward of birth-
Dreamed He not March below some vanished Moon-
Under an earlier Heaven's auroral flame
The cosmic April flowering into mirth
Of May and joy of Universal June ?