COME, dear, for it is May. Leave work and book, And I will lead you to so sweet a nook Whose green leaves make a little tender night, With flowers for stars. A thrush sings there, but singeth out of sight, And a brook's silver feet run very near. Come, dear. The breeze will stir a bed of leaves for you, And show some shy wood-violet, freshly blue; Or through leaf-tangled boughs a patient bird On a brown nest. And from the grass which the bold breeze has stirred We will pluck violets first of all the year. Come, dear. Come, dear; leave book and work these fair May hours; The grass is pale with delicate, frail flowers. ... What can a book say which can be so sweet As a bird's song? Or as white blossom-faces 'neath our feet? When blossom-faces tire mine will be near. Come, dear. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SANDHILL PEOPLE by CARL SANDBURG THE GOLDEN NET by WILLIAM BLAKE THE [EXCELLENT] BALLADE OF CHARITIE by THOMAS CHATTERTON PAST AND PRESENT by ROWLAND EYLES EGERTON-WARBURTON THE YARN OF THE 'NANCY BELL' by WILLIAM SCHWENCK GILBERT THE CAGED SKYLARK by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS |