It took a long time, but spring has finally arrived. We’ve had a few beautiful days, so I decided to dedicate this week’s poem to the month of May. Or actually, I decided to show you how many people have dedicated their poetry to this month, one of them being English poet Leigh Hunt.
There is May in books forever;
May will part from Spenser never;
May’s in Milton, May’s in Prior,
May’s in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer;
May’s in all the Italian books:—
She has old and modern nooks,
Where she sleeps with nymphs and elves,
In happy places they call shelves,
And will rise and dress your rooms
With a drapery thick with blooms.
Come, ye rains, then if ye will,
May’s at home, and with me still;
But come rather, thou, good weather,
And find us in the fields together.