Now the buttercups of May Twinkle fainter day by day, And the stalks of flowering clover Make the June fields red all over, -- Now the cuckoo, like a bell, Modulates a sad farewell, And the nightingale, perceiving Love's warm tokens, ends her grieving, -- Let us twain arise and go Where the freshening breezes blow, Where the granite giant moulders In his circling cairn of boulders! Just a year ago to-day, Friend, we climbed the selt-same way, Through the village-green, and higher Past the smithy's thundering fire; Up and up and where the hill Wound us by the cider-still; Where the scythers from the meadow Sat along the hedge for shadow; Where the little wayside inn Signals that the moors begin, Ah! remember all our laughter, Loitering at the bar, -- and after! All must be the same to-day, All must look the same old way, Only that the sweet child-maiden We admired so well, fruit-laden, Now, like an expanded bud, Must be blown to womanhood, And the fuller lips and bosom Must proclaim the perfect blossom. One step more! Before us, lo! Sheer the great ravine below, Empty, save where one brown plover Wheels across the ferny cover! Here, where all the valley lies Like a scroll before our eyes, Let us spend our golden leisure In a world of lazy pleasure. Comrade, let your heart forget All the thoughts that fray and fret; Till the sundown flares out yonder, Stretch here in the fern, and ponder. See, below us, where the stream Winds with broken silver gleam, How the nervous quivering sallows Bend and dare not touch the shallows! In that willow-shaded pool, When last June the airs were cool, How we made the hot noon shiver With our plunge into the river! In the sweet sun, side by side, You and I and none beside! Head and hands, thrown backward, slacken, Sunk into the soft warm bracken. Up in heaven a milky sky Floats across us leisurely; When we close our eyes, the duller Half-light seems a faint red colour. In this weary life of ours Pass too many leaden hours; In our chronicles of passion Too much apes the world's dull fashion. If our spirits strive to be Pure and high in their degree, Let us learn the soaring paean Under God's own empyrean. Leisure in the sun and air Makes the spirit strong and fair; Flaccid veins and pallid features Are not fit for sky-born creatures. Come then, for the hours of May Wane and falter, day by day, And the thrushes' first June chorus Will have waked the woods before us. |