If love be near them, just to hear and see.

IN MAY

Grief was my master yesternight;

To-morrow I may grieve again;

But now along the windy plain

The clouds have taken flight.

[18]

The sowers in the furrows go;

The lusty river brimmeth on;

The curtains from the hills are gone;

The leaves are out; and lo,

The silvery distance of the day,

The light horizons, and between

The glory of the perfect green,

The tumult of the May.

The bobolinks at noonday sing

More softly than the softest flute,

And lightlier than the lightest lute

Their fairy tambours ring.

The roads far off are towered with dust;

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