English May

WOULD God your health were as this month of May Should be, were this not England,—and your face Abroad, to give the gracious sunshine grace And laugh beneath the budding hawthorn-spray. But here the hedgerows pine from green to grey While yet May's lyre is tuning, and her song Is weak in shade that should in sun be strong; And your pulse springs not to so faint a lay. If in my life be breath of Italy, Would God that I might yield it all to you! So, when such grafted warmth had burgeoned through The languor of your Maytime's hawthorn-tree, My spirit at rest should walk unseen and see The garland of your beauty bloom anew.