Waiting.

Were we in May now, while             Our souls are yearning,         Sad hearts would bound and smile             With red blood burning;         Around the tedious dial             No slow hands turning.         Were we in May now, say,             What joy to know         Her heart's streams pulse away             In winds that blow,         See graceful limbs of May             Revealed to glow.         Were we in May now, think             What wealth she has;         The dog-tooth violets pink,             Wind-flowers like glass,         About the wood brook's brink             Dark sassafras.         Nights, which the large stars strew             Heav'n on heav'n rolled,         Nights, whose feet flash with dew,             Whose long locks hold         Aromas cool and new,             A moon's curved gold.         This makes me sad in March;             I long and long         To see the red-bud's torch             Flame far and strong,         Hear on my vine-climbed porch             The blue-bird's song.         What else then but to sleep             And cease from such;         Dream of her and to leap             At her white touch?         Ah me! then wake and weep,             Weep overmuch.         This is why day by day             Time lamely crawls,         Feet clogged with winter clay             That never falls,         While the dim month of May             Me far off calls.