May Day / Thomas MacDonagh

May Day

I wish I were to-day on the hill behind the wood,–
My eyes on the brown bog there and the Shannon river,–
Behind the wood at home, a quickened solitude
When the winds from Slieve Bloom set the branches there a-quiver.

The winds are there now and the green of May
On every feathery tree-bough, tender on every hedge:
Over the bog-fields there larks carol to-day,
And a cuckoo is mocking them out of the woodland's edge.

Here a country warmth is quiet on the rocks
That alone make never a change when the May is duly come;
Here sings no lark, and to-day no cuckoo mocks:
Over the wide hill a hawk floats, and the leaves are dumb.

~~
Thomas MacDonagh (1878-1916)
from Poetical Works, 1916

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Thomas MacDonagh biography

Oliver Dixon, River Shannon at Bellantra Bridge, May 2008. 

CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

A September Morning in Nebraska / C.M. Barrow

A September Morning in Nebraska

The sun has not yet risen, but his golden glow,
    Lights up the misty portals of the far off east;
The wavering shadows o’er the prairies come and go,
    And all the eerie sounds of night have ceased.

Nature’s own songsters, from the cotton trees,
    Fill all the languorous air with melody.
The corn fields rustle in the gentle morning breeze,
    And from the coming dawn the night-mist flees.

Anon a golden disc appears to view,
    Afar, o’er shimmering seas of grass and corn —
Like diamonds shine the myriad drops of dew,
    Up flies the lark, another day is born.

~~
C.M. Barrow
from Discover Poetry 

Spring's Sacrament / Harold E. Goad

Spring's Sacrament

'Lift up your hearts!’ The holy dews
    Asperge the woodland throng;
Dawn after dawn the lark renews
    His miracle of song;
While taper-like the crocus pricks
    Athwart the yearning sod;
The primrose lifts his golden pyx,
    And God looks forth to God.

The symbols blind, the visions fail,
    Our souls strain out to Thee;
Within the leaf, the light, the veil,
    Is Thy Felicity.
O Heart of all the world’s desire,
    Breathe from around, above,
The mystic kiss of Fire to fire
    That Love will yield to love!

~~
Harold E. Goad (1878-1956)
from the Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse, 1917

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Harold E. Goad biography

May / W.M.W. Call

May

The May returns! Once more the kindling blood
Flows through the heart of the resplendent year;
The mighty sea of life is now at flood,
And Summer's thousand voices murmur near.

High up the lark, among the morning beams,
Mounts like a kindred fire that hails the day;
The wandering music haunts the woods and streams,
And gladdens the full heart of happy May.

Far off at eve the nightingale is heard,
Hid in dim leaves where whispering waters fall,
And sought, but still unseen, the schoolboy's bird,
From bowers, long-lost, renews her echoing call.

Now Hope, once more doth like a herald blow
Her stately trumpet through our desert life ;
On the dark cloud Peace hangs her fading bow.
And, as it fades, Love comes to soften strife.

The May returns, and with her light and bloom
Returns the toil that heaps the year with gold —
The thought that with the gladness blends a gloom,
When once the fairy tale of youth is told.

Yet 'mid the sound and splendour of the May
I stand and dream, as winds and waters chime,
Of nobler summers, of an ampler day.
And praise the splendid promise of man's prime.

Taught that the leaves must fall ere buds can blow.
Taught that the flower must fade ere fruits can shine,
I hear glad harvests rustle ere they grow,
Bless my wild hope and call my dream divine.

~~
W.M.W. Call (1817-1890)
from Reverberations, 1875

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

W.M.W. Call biography

Spring-Time / Ernest Radford

Spring-Time

Where chestnuts overhang the stream
Our boat shall lie; here may we dream
An hour away, and Care may wait.
          Ah! sweet —
          Ah! sweet
Thus for one hour to deviate
From the rude pathway marked by Fate.

Our home is here: the skylark flings
His music down, and tiniest things
Beat the still air with labouring wings.
          Ah! sweet the odours,
          Sweet the song;
Sweet to forget, these scenes among,
The jarring discords of the throng.

Now glide we onward ever slow,
And now, in the opal afterglow,
Listen, a voice sings clear and low.
          Ah! sweet the singer;
          Sweet the strain!
Ah when, ah when, tired heart and brain,
Will that song gladden thee again?

~~

Ernest Radford (1857-1919)

from Old and New: A collection of poems, 1895

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Ernest Radford biography

Spring's Welcome / John Lyly

from Campaspe (1584)

Spring's Welcome

What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
O 'tis the ravish'd nightingale.
Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu! she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! Who is't now we hear?
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat
Poor robin redbreast tunes his note!
Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing
Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring!
Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring!

John Lyly (?1553-1606)
from The Oxford Book of English Verse, 1250-1900, 1919

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

John Lyly biography

May / Edward Thurlow

May

May! queen of blossoms,
     And fulfilling flowers,
With what pretty music
     Shall we charm the hours?
Wilt thou have pipe and reed,
Blown in the open mead?
Or to the lute give heed
     In the green bowers?

Thou hast no need of us,
     Or pipe or wire;
Thou hast the golden bee
     Ripen'd with fire;
And many thousand more
Songsters, that thee adore,
Filling earth's grassy floor
     With new desire.

Thou hast thy mighty herds,
     Tame and free-livers;
Doubt not, thy music too
     In the deep rivers;
And the whole plumy flight
Warbling the day and night —
Up at the gates of light,
     See, the lark quivers!

~~
Edward Thurlow (1781-1829)
from the Oxford Book of English Verse, 1250-1900

(edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch), 1919

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Edward Thurlow biography