The First of May

The waters make a music low: The river reeds Are trembling to the tunes of long ago — Dead days and deeds

Become alive again, as on  I float, and float, Through shadows of the golden summers gone And springs remote.

Above my head the trees bloom out In white and red Great blossoms, that make glad the air about; And old suns shed

Their rays athwart them. Ah, the light Is bright and fair! No suns that shine upon me now are bright As those suns were.

And, gazing down into the stream, I see a face, As sweet as buds that blossom in a dream, Ere sorrows chase

Fair dreams from men, and send in lieu Sad thoughts. A wreath Of blue-bells binds the head—a bluer blue The eyes beneath.

This is my little Annie's face; My child-sweetheart Whom long ago I lost in that dark place Where all lives part.

Beside me still I see her stand, Who is no more. She walked with me through childhood, hand in hand, But at the door

Of youth departed from me. Fain Was I that day To go with her. Ah, sweetheart, come again This First of May!