And we may see the Satyrs in the shades Of drowsy dells pipe, and, goat-footed, dance; And Pan himself reel rollicking through the glades; Or, hidden in bosky bow'rs, the Lust, perchance, Faun-like, that waits with heated, animal glance The advent of the Loveliness that wades Thigh-deep through flowers, naked as Romance, All unsuspecting, till two hairy arms Clasp her rebellious beauty, panting white, Whose tearful terror, struggling into might, Beats the brute brow resisting, but evades Not him, for whom the gods designed her charms.
Were it but May now, while Our hearts are yearning, How they would bound and smile, The young blood burning! Around the tedious dial No slow hands turning.
Were it but May now!--say, What joy to go, Your hand in mine all day, Where blossoms blow! Your hand, more white than May, May's flowers of snow.
Were it but May now!--think, What wealth she has! The bluet and wild-pink, Wild flowers,--that mass About the wood-brook's brink,-- And sassafras.
Nights, that the large stars strew, Heaven on heaven rolled; Nights, pearled with stars and dew, Whose heavens hold Aromas, and the new Moon's curve of gold.
So mad, so wild is March!-- I long, oh, long To see the redbud's torch Flame far and strong; Hear, on my vine-climbed porch, The bluebird's song.
How slow the Hours creep, Each with a crutch!-- Ah, could my spirit leap Its bounds and touch That day, no thing would keep-- Or matter much!
But now, with you away, Time halts and crawls, Feet clogged with winter clay, That never falls, While, distant still, that day Of meeting calls.
Now when the first wild violets peer All rain-filled at blue April skies, As on one smiles one's sweetheart dear With the big teardrops in her eyes:
Now when the May-apples, I wis, Bloom white along lone, greenwood creeks, As bashful as the cheeks you kiss, As waxen as your sweetheart's cheeks:
Within the soul what longings rise To stamp the town-dust from the feet! Fare forth to gaze in Spring's clean eyes, And kiss her cheeks so cool and sweet!
How can I help from laughing, while The daffodillies at me smile? The dancing dew winks tipsily In clusters of the lilac-tree, And crocus' mouths and hyacinths' Storm through the grassy labyrinths A mirth of pearl and violet; While roses, bud by bud, Laugh from each dainty-lacing net Red lips of maidenhood.