May Day

Sara Teasdale - 1884-1933

A delicate fabric of bird song
Floats in the air,
The smell of wet wild earth
Is everywhere.

Red small leaves of the maple
Are clenched like a hand,
Like girls at their first communion
The pear trees stand.

Oh I must pass nothing by
Without loving it much,
The raindrop try with my lips,
The grass with my touch;

For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May
Shining after the rain?

This poem is in the public domain. Originally published in Flame and Shadow, by Sara Teasdale.

Strephon kissed me in the spring, Robin in the fall, But Colin only looked at me And never kissed at all. Strephon's kiss was lost in jest, Robin's lost in play, But the kiss in Colin's eyes Haunts me night and day.

What can I give you, my lord, my lover, You who have given the world to me, Showed me the light and the joy that cover The wild sweet earth and restless sea? All that I have are gifts of your giving— If I gave them again, you would find them old, And your soul would weary of always living Before the mirror my life would hold. What shall I give you, my lord, my lover? The gift that breaks the heart in me: I bid you awake at dawn and discover I have gone my way and left you free.

"Four winds blowing thro' the sky, You have seen poor maidens die, Tell me then what I shall do That my lover may be true." Said the wind from out the south, "Lay no kiss upon his mouth," And the wind from out the west, "Wound the heart within his breast," And the wind from out the east, "Send him empty from the feast," And the wind from out the north, "In the tempest thrust him forth, When thou art more cruel than he, Then will Love be kind to thee."

Poems

May Day

More by Sara Teasdale

The Look

The Gift

Four Winds

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