Maurice Thompson

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Give me a day, let business right itself,
Give me one day to drift in idleness
Along the shores of dreamland. Let me build
My castles in the air and dwell in them
A space, while yet the happy May-winds blow.

The oriole is come, and in the thorn
Among the greening buds the catbird sings;
The fields are sweet, and in the sky is set
A tranquil glory. Let me go and lie
Upon the grass while happy May-winds blow.

I 'd rather rest to-day than be a king,
For what are kings but slaves with golden chains?
Talk not of work, this is too sweet a day
To bow one's neck and tamely take the yoke,
And I will not, while happy May-winds blow.

This is the month of wooing; let me sit
Close hand in hand with Nature, as a man,
Being deep in love, would sit beside a maid,
And ask for rest as lovers ask for love,
In tender whispers, while the May-winds blow.

And if I fall asleep in Nature's arms,
Like any lover in the arms of love,
Let no one passing by awaken me,
For only once, in all the rolling year,
Comes holiday while happy May-winds blow.

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