May Day

May Day

by Sara Teasdale

 

A delicate fabric of bird song

Floats in the air,

The smell of wet wild earth

Is everywhere

 

Red small leaves of the maple

Are clenched like a hand,

Like girls at their first communion

The pear trees stand.

 

Oh I must pass nothing by

Without loving it much,

The raindrop try with my lips,

The grass with my touch;

 

For how can I be sure

I shall see again

The world on the first of May

Shining after the rain?

 



 

 

Sweet words, "Oh, I must pass nothing by without loving it much."  These friends are just like that.  They love much.  Last year in Dallas, they dropped by with construction paper cones full of popcorn.  This year, on another continent, and during another brief time together, they treated us with May Day baskets full of treats.