May

Shyly the silver-hatted mushrooms make Soft entrance through, And undelivered lovers, half-awake, Hear noises in the dew.

Yellow in all the earth and in the skies The world would seem, Faint as a widow mourning with soft eyes And falling into dream.

Up the long hill I see, the slow plough leave Furrows of brown; Dim is the day and beautiful; I grieve To see the sun go down.

But there are suns a many for mine eyes Day after day; Delightsome in grave greenery they rise, Red oranges in May.