There is May in books forever; 
May will part from Spenser never; 
May's in Milton, May's in Prior, 
May's in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer; 
May's in all the Italian books:-- 
She has old and modern nooks, 
Where she sleeps with nymphs and elves, 
In happy places they call shelves, 
And will rise and dress your rooms 
With a drapery thick with blooms. 
Come, ye rains, then if ye will, 
May's at home, and with me still; 
But come rather, thou, good weather, 
And find us in the fields together. 

Added: Apr 5 2005 | Viewed: 360 times | Comments (0)

Poet: James Henry Leigh Hunt
Poem: May and the Poets

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