Poems MacCarthy, Florence Denis

183
Of the life that follows this,
Full of joys that last alway!
Other months are cold and gray,
Some are bright, but what are they?
Earth may take the whole eleven--
Hopeful May--happy May!
Thine the borrowed month of heaven
Cometh thence and points the way.
Wing`ed minstrels come and play
Through the woods their roundelay;
Who can tell but only thou,
Spirit-ear'd, inspir`ed May,
On the bud-embow'r`ed bough
What the happy lyrists say?
Is the burden of their lay
Love's desire, or Love's decay?
Are there not some fond regrets
Mix'd with these, divinest May,
For the sun that never sets
Down the everlasting day?
But upon thy wondrous way
Mirth alone should dance and play--
No regrets, how fond they be,
E'er should wound the ear of May--
Bow before her, flower and tree!
Nor, my heart, do thou delay.