MAY AND DEATH

I wish that when you died last May, Charles, there had died along with you Three parts of spring's delightful things; Aye, and, for me, the fourth part, too. A foolish thought, and worse, perhaps!5 There must be many a pair of friends Who, arm in arm, deserve the warm Moon-births and the long evening-ends. So, for their sake, be May still May! Let their new time, as mine of old,10 Do all it did for me: I bid Sweet sights and sounds throng manifold. Only, one little sight, one plant, Woods have in May, that starts up green Save a sole streak which, so to speak,15 Is spring's blood, spilt its leaves between— That, they might spare; a certain wood Might miss the plant; their loss were small: But I—whene'er the leaf grows there, Its drop comes from my heart, that's all.20