Swords and Plowshares/May
May.png){kind=small}
O MAY, May!
May of the fields bubbling over with bobolinks!
May of the forest splashed white with the dogwood!
May of the trees bearing birds' nests and blossoms, shedding perfume and song!—
Why do you heartlessly slip through my fingers?
August, with its crickets alive in the stubble and its dizzy, hot air a-simmering along the parched ground;May of the fields bubbling over with bobolinks!
May of the forest splashed white with the dogwood!
May of the trees bearing birds' nests and blossoms, shedding perfume and song!—
Why do you heartlessly slip through my fingers?
October, bracing and strong, with its clear distant view of the yellow and red mountain maples—with its pink coral dogwood leaves close by;
Mid-winter, with its snapping, thickening ice on the river and its black crows cawing above the snows—
All of them—all the other seasons—stay with me, give themselves up to me, satisfy me.
Only you, bewitching, evasive, elusive, forever changing, year after year escape.