In the greenest growth of the Maytime, | |
I rode where the woods were wet, | |
Between the dawn and the daytime; | |
The spring was glad that we met. | |
There was something the season wanted, | |
Though the ways and the woods smelt sweet; | |
The breath at your lips that panted, | |
The pulse of the grass at your feet. | |
You came, and the sun came after, | |
10 | And the green grew golden above; |
And the flag-flowers lightened with laughter, | |
And the meadow-sweet shook with love. | |
Your feet in the full-grown grasses | |
Moved soft as a weak wind blows; | |
You passed me as April passes, | |
With face made out of a rose. | |
By the stream where the stems were slender, | |
Your bright foot paused at the sedge; | |
It might be to watch the tender | |
20 | Light leaves in the springtime hedge, |
On boughs that the sweet month blanches | |
With flowery frost of May: | |
It might be a bird in the branches, | |
It might be a thorn in the way. | |
I waited to watch you linger | |
With foot drawn back from the dew, | |
Till a sunbeam straight like a finger | |
Struck sharp through the leaves at you. | |
And a bird overhead sang Follow, | |
30 | And a bird to the right sang Here; |
And the arch of the leaves was hollow, | |
And the meaning of May was clear. | |
I saw where the sun’s hand pointed, | |
I knew what the bird’s note said; | |
By the dawn and the dewfall anointed, | |
You were queen by the gold on your head. | |
As the glimpse of a burnt-out ember | |
Recalls a regret of the sun, | |
I remember, forget, and remember | |
40 | What Love saw done and undone. |
I remember the way we parted, | |
The day and the way we met; | |
You hoped we were both broken-hearted, | |
And knew we should both forget. | |
And May with her world in flower | |
Seemed still to murmur and smile | |
As you murmured and smiled for an hour; | |
I saw you turn at the stile. | |
A hand like a white wood-blossom | |
50 | You lifted, and waved, and passed, |
With head hung down to the bosom, | |
And pale, as it seemed, at last. | |
And the best and the worst of this is | |
That neither is most to blame | |
If you’ve forgotten my kisses | |
And I’ve forgotten your name. |