All furnished, all in arms; All plum’d like estridges that with the wind Bated like eagles having lately bathed; Glittering in golden coats like images; As full of spirit as the month of May. And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer; Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.” – William Shakespeare
May Day
by American poet 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?
