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JACK SAVILLE JUDD.
237
MAY MORNING, NATAL.
Are the days so long and the nights so dreary,
That we must yearn for the bygone years?
Are souls so sad and hearts so weary
That men have time for tears?
In English orchards the birds are singing;
In English valleys the grass is green;
In English lanes the lads are bringing
May to crown their queen.
Yet all the gold of an orange garden,
And all the green of the sugar-cane,
Prompts a pitiful prayer for pardon
Whenever we complain.
And in English homes, if the merry-making
Would lag a little, our Loved might say,
"Somewhere May-day is breaking
For Someone far away."
Jack Saville Judd.
