Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1921/May

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THE DARK CUP
I

May

A delicate fabric of bird-song
 Floats in the air,
The smell of wet wild earth
 Is everywhere.

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Red small leaves of the maple
 Are clenched like a hand,
Like girls at their first communion
 The pear trees stand.

Oh I must pass nothing by
 Without loving it much,
The rain drop try with my lips,
 The grass with my touch;

For how can I be sure
 I shall see again
The world on the first of May
 Shining after the rain?

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