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Literary Gazette, 12th May, 1832, Page 300
ORIGINAL POETRY.
OUR PRESENT MAY.
"May is full of flowers."—Southwell.
"Born in yon blaze of orient sky.
Sweet May, thy radiant form unfold.
Unclose thy blue voluptuous eye,
And wave thy shadowy lock of gold."
Darwin.
"The month of flowers," May,
Were they not wont to say
That, of the Year's twelve lovely daughters, thou
Didst wear most perfect sweetness on thy brow?
They said the crimson rose
Was eager to unclose
For thee the fragrant mysteries which lie
Hidden in leafless boughs beneath the winter sky.
The poets told thy birth
Was welcomed upon earth
By the sweet multitude of shining flowers,
By bursting buds, green leaves, and sunny hours.
And thou art come, sweet May;
A week beneath thy sway
The world has been; yet is it dull and cold:
Doth it not own thy reign, as in the days of old?
To-day all life is strange
With great and utter change;
The power is past away from many a shrine
And many a throne—must it, too, pass from thine?
Still o’er the darkened sky
The heavy clouds sail by,
Till the bleak shower comes down unpityingly,
Beating the few faint blossoms from the tree.
Where is the yellow ore
Which the laburnum bore,
As if transformed, the Theban princess there,
Amid the golden shower, loosed her more golden hair?
