Saturday, 1 May 2010

May Day

May Day
by Sarah 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?

1 comment:

  1. That's a pretty poem. I don't think I've read it before.
    Hope you have a wonderful week-end.


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