In May

By Alice Baker

The rain that’s falling soft and slow
Has set the tulip bed aglow,
A flaming mass of color.
And oh, the yellow and the red
Against the blackness of the bed—
The garden seems enchanted.

And how the tiny rose leaves shine,
So new and wet, and on the vine
A tiny yellow warbler.
And in my heart I bend my knee
To Him who made such things to be—
So exquisite and tender.