Poems MacCarthy, Florence Denis

176
We bring thee from our distant home
Robes of the pure white-woven foam,
And many a pure, transparent comb,
Formed of the shells the tortoise plaits,
By Babelmandeb's coral-straits;
And amber vases, with inlay
Of roseate pearl time never dims--
O lovely May! O longed-for May!
Wherein to lave thine ivory limbs.
We bring, as sandals for thy feet,
Beam-broidered waves, like those that greet,
With green and golden chrysolite,
The setting sun's departing beams,
When all the western water seems
Like emeralds melted by his ray,
So softly bright, so gently warm--
O lovely May! O long'd-for May!
That thou canst trust thy tender form.
And lo! the ladies of the hill,
The rippling stream, and sparkling rill,
With rival speed, and like good will,
Come, bearing down the mountain's side
The liquid crystals of the tide,
In vitreous vessels clear as they,
And cry, from each worn, winding path:
O lovely May! O long'd-for May!
We come to lead thee to the bath.
And we have fashioned, for thy sake,
Mirrors more bright than art could make--
The silvery-sheeted mountain lake
Hangs in its carv`ed frame of rocks,
Wherein to dress thy dripping locks,
Or bind the dewy curls that stray
Thy trembling breast meandering down--
O lovely May! O long'd-for May!
Within their self-woven crown.
Arise, O May! arise and see