MAY.
Reading edition
Thou comest to the year, And bringest all things beautiful and sweet; Thy lovely miracles themselves repeat In the green glory of the grass, And peeping flowers that stay our lingering feet With their soft eyes, blue like the sky and clear; Thou bringest not, alas, Our lily, our May-blossom, O New Year!
Thou bringest all things fair, And bright, and gentle, but thou bring'st not her: The May-birds warble, and May breezes stir In the sweet-scented lilac boughs; But our one May—our gentlest minister Of gladness, with the beauty of her hair. Her place in our still house Is empty,—and the world is bleak and bare.