English poem
May Memories
by Sarah Doudney (1841–1926)
Swiftly wound the silver river Where the grass grew deep, Through the mystic shade and silence That the woodlands keep; Underneath the chestnuts straying, (Trembling fans o'erhead,) With the creamy blossoms playing, How my bright hours sped!
As a dream when one awaketh Seems to me that day, Chestnut blossoms, sliding river, Fairyland of May! City walls close in behind me, Summer joys are o'er; Where the sunshine used to find me I shall stray no more.
Other hands will pull the blossoms, Cones of pink and white; Mine are worn with daily labor, Tired from morn till night Still I muse, but not in sadness, On those bygone days; Here my autumn hath its gladness Worth a thousand Mays!