To welcome, warmer than noon!

No sweet small voice as a bird's

To bring us the day's first words!

Mid May for us here is not Maytime:

No summer begins with June.

A whole dead month in the dark,

A dawn in the mists that o'ercome her

Stifled and smothered and sad—

Swift speed to it, barren and bad!

And return to us, voice of the lark,

And remain with us, sunlight of summer.

323 II

323

Alas, what right has the dawn to glimmer,

What right has the wind to do aught but moan?

All the day should be dimmer

Because we are left alone.

Yestermorn like a sunbeam present

Hither and thither a light step smiled,

And made each place for us pleasant

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