MAY, like a maiden soft and fair, With pink-white blossoms in her hair, Trippingly foots the verdant mead, Conscious of none, so all take heed. To her wend lovers, old and young, With hearts new-kindled and lyres new-strung, To list once more her sweet command, And crave some boon at her fair hand. The Cuckoo clamours down the wind To every listener he can find; And little birds, from brake and bough, Her, Queen of all the months, allow. The Chestnut and the Hawthorn vie Whose blossoms shall outmatch the sky, Where soft and fleecy clouds unfold New realms of wonder spann'd with gold. Now mounts the Lark his spiral throne To wing the firmament alone, And flood the hollow vault of Heaven With music not to mortals given. Maiden of Months! to thee I bring This simple tribute of the Spring— Content, if in thy smiles I see A glimpse of what thy love might be! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VASHTI by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON A DAY IN BED by KATHERINE MANSFIELD IN A RAILROAD STATION by SARA TEASDALE THE HERETIC: 2. IRONY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER EPISTLE IN FORM OF A BALLAD TO HIS FRIENDS by FRANCOIS VILLON |