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Maiden May. 19
No breath of you was in the dew,
No hint of you before us;
The winds were wet with April yet,
And sobbing in a chorus,
When, swift and strong, you came along
As if nowise belated,
Your face alight with blushes bright,
Your arms with blossoms freighted.
You lifted up each flowery cup,
Yourself a flowery vision;
At April fears of April's tears,
You laughed in gay derision.
For what were fears, and what were tears,
To you, my merry maiden,
As you came down the hillside brown
With rosy May-flowers laden?
