May

I cannot tell you how it was,

But this I know: it came to pass

Upon a bright and sunny day

When May was young,ah, pleasant May!

As yet the poppies were not born

Between the blades of tender corn;

The last egg had not hatched as yet,

Nor any bird foregone its mate.

I cannot tell you what it was,

But this I know: it did but pass.

It passed away with sunny May,

Like all sweet things it passed away,

And left me old, and cold, and gray.