May

She leans across an orchard gate somewhere, Bending from out the shadows to the light, A dappled spray of blossom in her hair Studded with dew-drops lovely from the night She smiles to think how many hearts she'll smite With beauty ere her robes fade from the lawn. She hears the robin's cymbals with delight, The skylark in the rosebush of the dawn.

For her the cowslip rings its yellow bell, For her the violets watch with wide blue eyes. The wandering cuckoo doth its clear name tell Thro' the white mist of blossoms where she lies Painting a sunset for the western skies. You'd know her by her smile and by her tear And by the way the swift and martin flies, Where she is south of these wild days and drear.