Poems (Trask)/May
For works with similar titles, see May.
MAY.
The air is full of golden glows: Sweet prophecies of June Are on the sunset skies each night, Which face the rising moon; In molten seas of amber mist The stars shrink out of sight, And in a maze of fervid hues The day blends with the night.
The morning airs are sharp with frost; Smells of the pine and fern Come from the east hills, where like fire The sunrise glories burn; And in the pasture at the gate The lazy cattle stand, Watching the farmer as he goes To sow his fertile land.
The dandelion stars the field With yellow/splendor gay, The orchards dress themselves in white, Because the time is May; The plains are greening in the sun, And soon the clover grass Will crimson all the meadow-lands O'er which the wild bees pass.
Oh, rare west winds, and airs of balm, Steal down from wild-wood heights! Oh, scents of spruce, and pine, and fern, And breath of sweet delights, Come softly to me, o'er the reach Of rippling sunlit bay, And linger long,—oh, linger long! Because the time is May!