May

MAY

By James Gates Percival

 

I feel a newer life in every gale;

     The winds that fan the flowers,

And with their welcome breathings fill the sail,       

      Tell of serener hours, —

   Of hours that glide unfelt away

   Beneath the sky of May.

 

The spirit of the gentle south-wind calls

      From his blue throne of air,

And where his whispering voice in music falls,

      Beauty is budding there;

   The bright ones of the valley break

   Their slumbers, and awake.

 

The waving verdure rolls along the plain,

      And the wide forest weaves,

To welcome back its playful mates again,

      A canopy of leaves;

   And from its darkening shadow floats

   A gush of trembling notes.

 

Fairer and brighter spreads the reign of May;

      The tresses of the woods

With the light dallying of the west-wind play;

      And the full-brimming floods,

   As gladly to their goal they run,

   Hail the returning sun.

 

    

  

 

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