In May
By John Burroughs
When grosbeaks show a damask rose
Amid the cherry blossoms white,
And early robins’ nests disclose
To loving eyes a joyous sight;
When columbines like living coals
Are gleaming ‘gainst the lichened rocks,
And at the foot of mossy boles
Are young anemones in flocks;
When ginger-root beneath twin leaves
Conceals its dusky floral bell,
And showy orchid shyly weaves
In humid nook its fragrant spell;
When dandelion’s coin of gold
Anew is minted on the lawn,
And apple trees their buds unfold,
While warblers storm the groves at dawn;
When such delights greet eye and ear,
Then strike thy tasks and come away:
It is the joy-month of the year,
And onward sweeps the tide of May.
When farmhouse doors stand open wide
To welcome in the balmy air,
When truant boys plunge in the tide,
And school-girls knots of violets wear;
When grapevines crimson in the shoot,
Like fin of trout in meadow stream,
And morning brings the thrush’s flute
Where dappled lilies nod and dream;
When varied tints outline the trees,
Like figures sketched upon a screen,
And all the forest shows degrees
Of tawny red and yellow-green;
When purple finches sing and soar,
Then drop to perch on open wing,
With vernal gladness running o’er—
The feathered lyrist of the spring:
When joys like these salute the sense,
And bloom and perfume fill the day,
Then waiting long hath recompense,
And all the world is glad with May.