To S. C.
Blithe dreams arise to greet us, And life feels clean and new, For the old love comes to meet us In the dawning and the dew.
O'erblown with sunny shadows, O'ersped with winds at play, The woodlands and the meadows Are keeping holiday.
Wild foals are scampering, neighing, Brave merles their hautboys blow:
Come! let us go a-maying As in the Long-Ago.
Here we but peak and dwindle:
The clank of chain and crane, The whir of crank and spindle Bewilder heart and brain;
The ends of our endeavour Are merely wealth and fame, Yet in the still Forever We're one and all the same;
Delaying, still delaying, We watch the fading west:
Come! let us go a-maying, Nor fear to take the best.
Yet beautiful and spacious The wise, old world appears.
Yet frank and fair and gracious Outlaugh the jocund years.
Our arguments disputing, The universal Pan Still wanders fluting--fluting -
Fluting to maid and man.
Our weary well-a-waying His music cannot still:
Come! let us go a-maying, And pipe with him our fill.
When wanton winds are flowing Among the gladdening glass;
Where hawthorn brakes are blowing, And meadow perfumes pass;
Where morning's grace is greenest, And fullest noon's of pride;
Where sunset spreads serenest, And sacred night's most wide;
Where nests are swaying, swaying, And spring's fresh voices call, Come! let us go a-maying, And bless the God of all!
1878
