May
by: Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830 - 1894)
I cannot tell you how it was;
But this I know: it came to pass
Upon a bright and breezy day
When May was young; ah pleasant May!
As yet the poppies were not born
Between the blades of tender corn;
The last eggs 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,
With all sweet things it passed away,
And left me old, and cold, and grey.
|
Remember
Birthday, A
Echo
Mirage
Promises Like Pie-Crust
First Day, The
Song
Gone For Ever
|
