| |
| IN the greenest growth of the Maytime, | |
| I rode where the woods were wet, | |
| Between the dawn and the daytime; | |
| The spring was glad that we met. | |
| |
| There was something the season wanted, | 5 |
| Though the ways and the woods smelt sweet,— | |
| The breath at your lips that panted, | |
| The pulse of the grass at your feet. | |
| |
| You came, and the sun came after, | |
| And the green grew golden above; | 10 |
| And the flag-flowers lightened with laughter, | |
| And the meadowsweet shook with love. | |
| |
| Your feet in the full-grown grasses | |
| Moved soft as a weak wind blows: | |
| You passed me as April passes, | 15 |
| With face made out of a rose. | |
| |
| By the stream where the stems are slender, | |
| Your bright foot paused at the sedge; | |
| It might be to watch the tender | |
| Light leaves in the springtime hedge. | 20 |
| |
| On boughs that the sweet month blanches | |
| With flowery frost of May; | |
| It might be a bird in the branches, | |
| It might be a thorn in the way. | |
| |
| I waited to watch you linger | 25 |
| With foot drawn back from the dew, | |
| Till a sunbeam straight like a finger | |
| Struck sharp through the leaves at you, | |
| |
| And a bird overhead sang Follow, | |
| And a bird to the right sang Here; | 30 |
| And the arch of the leaves was hollow, | |
| And the meaning of May was clear. | |
| |
| I saw where the sun’s hand pointed, | |
| I knew what the bird’s note said: | |
| By the dawn and the dewfall anointed, | 35 |
| You were queen by the gold on your head. | |
| |
| As the glimpse of a burnt-out ember | |
| Recalls a regret of the sun, | |
| I remember, forget, and remember | |
| What Love saw done and undone. | 40 |
| |
| I remember the way we parted, | |
| The day and the way we met: | |
| You hoped we were both broken-hearted. | |
| And knew we should both forget. | |
| |
| And May with her world in flower | 45 |
| Seemed still to murmur and smile | |
| As you murmured and smiled for an hour: | |
| I saw you turn at the stile. | |
| |
| A hand like a white wood-blossom | |
| You lifted, and waved, and passed, | 50 |
| With head hung down to the bosom, | |
| And pale, as it seemed, at last. | |
| |
| And the best and the worst of this is, | |
| That neither is most to blame, | |
| If you’ve forgotten my kisses, | 55 |
| And I’ve forgotten your name. | |
| |
