Sunday, May 8, 2011

May

I cannot tell you how it was, 
But this I know: it came to pass 
Upon a bright and sunny day 
When May was young; ah, pleasant May! 
As yet the poppies were not born 
Between the blades of tender corn;
The last egg had not hatched as yet,
Nor any bird foregone its mate*. 
I cannot tell you what it was, 
But this I know: it did but pass. 
It passed away with sunny May, 
Like all sweet things it passed away, 
And left me old, and cold, and gray. 
---Christina Rossetti, (1830-1894) 

*in the world of birds, many males leave their mates after the babies are old enough to fly away