May.
Thou comest to the year, And bringest all things beautiful and sweet; Thy lovely miracles themselves repeat In the green glory of the grass, And peeping flowers that stay our lingering feet With their soft eyes, blue like the sky and clear; Thou bringest not, alas, Our lily, our May-blossom, O New Year! Thou bringest all things fair, And bright, and gentle, but thou bring'st not her: The May-birds warble, and May breezes stir In the sweet-scented lilac boughs; But our one May--our gentlest minister Of gladness, with the beauty of her hair. Her place in our still house Is empty,--and the world is bleak and bare.
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"Thou comest to the year,..."
"May." is a quintessential example of Kate Seymour Maclean's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...