And so it was in early May,
Where the Season’s Fancies brightly played,
There were shards of light throughout the lane,
For the Sun had found it’s Youth again.
To play amongst the Oak and Yew,
And entomb it’s light in Meadow’s Dew,
In the layered Mist about the Glade ,
To the Lichen Walls Old hands once made.
Where far-away the rippling Stream ,
That winds along by Banks of green ,
The air is alive, a Honey’ed scent,
To fill the Heart with May’s intent.
And so it was to my surprise,
With Lilac Dress and luring Eyes,
You of all that walked in view,
The essence of all that’s dear and true.
You talked at length of the Beauty near,
But are you not it’s undoubted peer?
For what is the Dawn that lights the Sky,
Compared to the Rainbow to please the Eye?
But all to soon you moved along,
And left a man bereft of Sun,
As your Shadow swept Bluebell and Corn,
I was left alone, disturbed, Forlorn .
Now ; I walk in memory of that early day,
The Morning Sun and the fields at play,
For so it was and since I find,
This living Dryad haunts the mind.
For the meeting of Beauty took me quite unaware,
The Season’s feast and her presence there.