May

MAY

by James Gates Percival

I FEEL a newer life in every gale;

The winds, that fan the flowers,

And with their welcome breathings fill the

sail,

Tell of serener hours, --

Of hours that glide unfelt away

Beneath the sky of May.

The spirit of the gentle south- wind calls

From his blue throne of air,

And where his whispering voice in music falls,

Beauty is budding there;

The bright ones of the valley break

Their slumbers, and awake.

The waving verdure rolls along the plain,

And the wide forest weaves.

To welcome back its playful mates again,

A canopy of leaves;

And from its darkening shadow floats

A gush of trembling notes.