Oh May, - she fled to the hills today, cavorting with the blooming Olalla bushes and the yellow balsom root, and sent in her place grey skies, rain and chilly winds. She copies April's fickle ways....
I cannot tell you how it was,
But this I know; it came to pass
Upon a bright and sunny day
When May was young; ah, pleasant May!
As yet the poppies were not born
Between the blades of tender corn;
The last egg had not hatched as yet,
Nor any bird foregone its mate.
I cannot tell you what it was,
But this I know; it did but pass.
It passed away with sunny May,
Like all sweet things it passed away,
And left me old, and cold, and gray
Christina Georgina Rossetti, MAY, 1880
2 comments:
The month is so different to my dear Aunt May who was sweetness and reliability itself! Here to the forecasters talk of the return of Jack Frost tonight - luckily the recent rains have prevented me putting tender plants out just yet.
I had to read your three poems of May, they are wildly wonderful! Thank you for posting poetry, I rarely read it on my own, except for the Psalms and Song of Solomon.
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