May - An 1843 Poem

By Amelia.

Oh, this is the beautiful month of May,

The season of birds and of flowers,

The young and the lovely are out of the way

'Mid up-springing grass and the blossoms at play;

Oh many a heart will be happy to-day,

In this beautiful region of ours.

 

Sweet April, the frail, the capriciously bright,

Hath passed like the lovely away;

Yet we mourn not for her absence, for swift at her flight

Sprang forth her young sister an angel of light,

And fair as a sunbeam that dazzles the sight,

Is beautiful, beautiful May.

 

What scenes of delight, what sweet visions she brings,

Of freshness, of gladness and mirth,

Of fair sunny glades where the butter-cup springs,

Of cool gushing fountains, of rose-tinted wings

Of birds, bees, and blossoms, all beautiful things,

Whose brightness rejoices the earth.

 

How fair is the landscape o'er hill-top and glade,

What swift-varying colors are rolled —

The shadow now sunshine, the sunshine now shade;

Their light-shifting hues for the green earth have made

A garment resplendent with dew-gems o'erlaid —

A light-woven tissue of gold!

 

Oh yes, lovely May, the enchantingly fair,

Is here with her beams and her flowers;

Their rainbow-like garments the blossoms now wear,

For all in their health-giving odors may share,

For the breath of their sweetness is out in the air —

Those children of sunbeam and showers.

 

The fragrant magnolia is loveliness drest,

The lilac's more delicate hue,

The violet, half-opening its azure-hued vest,

Just kissed by a sunbeam, its innocent quest,

The light-floating cloudlets, like spirits at rest,

All pictured in motionless blue —

 

These brighten the landscape, and softly unroll

Their splendors by land and by sea;

They steal o'er the heart with a magic control,

That lightens the bosom and freshens the soul:

Oh! this is the charm that enhances the whole,

And makes them so lovely to me.

 

How sweet when the month's in the flush of its prime,

To hear, as we wander alone,

Some bird's sudden song from the sweet-scented lime,

And catch the low gush of its exquisite chime,

And set it to music, and turn it to rhyme,

With a spirit as light as its own.

 

And sweet to recline 'neath the emerald-robed trees,

Where fairy-like footsteps have trod,

With the lull of the waters, the hum of the bees,

Melting into the spirit, delicious degrees

Of exquisite softness! In moments like these

I have walked with the angels of God.

 

Sweet season of love when the fairy queen trips

At eve through the star-lighted grove;

What rows are now breathed where the honey-bee sips!

What cheeks whose bright beauties the roses eclipse,

Are crimsoned with blushes! What rose-tinted lips

Are moist with the kisses of love!

 

Yet loveliest of months! with the praises I sing,

Thy glories are passing away

With the dew from the blossom, the bird on the wing;

Yet round thee a garland poetic I fling,

Sweet sister of April! young child of the Spring!

Oh beautiful, beautiful May!

May 29, 1843. New York Daily Tribune 3(43): 4. From the Louisville Journal.