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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540223" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To May</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THOUGH many suns have risen and set<br> Since thou, blithe May, wert born,<br>And Bards, who hailed thee, may forget<br> Thy gift, thy beauty scorn;<br>There are who to a birthday strain<br> Confine not harp and voice,<br>But evermore throughout thy reign<br> Are grateful and rejoice!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Delicious odor! music sweet,<br> Too sweet to pass away!<br>Oh for a deathless song to meet<br> The soul's desire---a lay<br>That, when a thousand year are told,<br> Should praise thee, genial Power!<br>Through summer heat, autumnal cold,<br> And winter's dreariest hour.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Earth, sea, thy presence feel---nor less,<br> If yon ethereal blue<br>With its soft smile the truth express,<br> The heavens have felt it too.<br>The inmost heart of man if glad<br> Partakes a livelier cheer;<br>And eye that cannot but be sad<br> Let fall a brightened tear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Since thy return, through days and weeks<br> Of hope that grew by stealth,<br>How many wan and faded cheeks<br> Have kindled into health!<br>The Old, by thee revived, have said,<br> 'Another year is ours;'<br>And wayworn Wanderers, poorly fed,<br> Have smiled upon thy flowers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who tripping lisps a merry song<br> Amid his playful peers?<br>The tender Infant who was long<br> A prisoner of fond fears;<br>But now, when every sharp-edged blast<br> Is quiet in its sheath,<br>His Mother leaves him free to taste<br> Earth's sweetness in thy breath.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thy help is with the weed that creeps<br> Along the humblest ground;<br>No cliff so bare but on its steeps<br> Thy favors may be found;<br>But most on some peculiar nook<br> That our own hands have drest,<br>Thou and thy train are proud to look,<br> And seem to love it best.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yet how pleased we wander forth<br> When May is whispering, 'Come!<br>'Choose from the bowers of virgin earth<br> The happiest for your home;<br>HeavenÕs bounteous love through me is spread<br> From sunshine, clouds, winds, waves,<br>Drops on the mouldering turret's head,<br> And on your turf-clad graves!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such greeting heard, away with sighs<br> For lilies that must fade,<br>Or ' the rathe primrose as it dies<br> Forsaken' in the shade!<br>Vernal fruitions and desires<br> Are linked in endless chase;<br>While, as one kindly growth retires,<br> Another takes its place.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And what if thou, sweet May, hast known<br> Mishap by worm and blight;<br>If expectations newly blown<br> Have perished in thy sight;<br>If loves and joys, while up they sprung,<br> Were caught as in a snare;<br>Such is the lot of all the young,<br> However bright and fair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo! Streams that April could not check<br> Are patient of thy rule;<br>Gurgling in foamy water-break,<br> Loitering in glassy pool:<br>By thee, thee only, could be sent<br> Such gentle mists as glide,<br>Curling with unconfirmed intent,<br> On that green mountain's side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How delicate the leafy veil<br> Through which yon house of God<br>Gleams 'mid the peace of this deep dale<br> By few but shepherds trod!<br>And lowly huts, near beaten ways,<br> No sooner stand attired<br>In thy fresh wreaths, than they for praise<br> Peep forth, and are admired.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Season of fancy and of hope,<br> Permit not for one hour,<br>A blossom from thy crown to drop,<br> Nor add to it a flower!<br>Keep, lovely May, as if by touch<br> Of self restraining art,<br>This modest charm of not too much,<br> Part seen, imagined part!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Wordsworth">William Wordsworth</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540223" data-title="To May de William Wordsworth" data-description="THOUGH many suns have risen and set
 Since thou, blithe May, wert born,
And Bards, who hailed thee, may forget
 Thy gift, thy beauty scorn;
There are who to a birthday strain
 Confine not harp and voice,
But evermore throughout thy reign
 Are grat..."></div>
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