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may-day.

- Daughter of Heaven and Earth, coy Spring,
- With sudden passion languishing,
- Teaching barren moors to smile,
- Painting pictures mile on mile,
- Holds a cup with cowslip-wreaths,
- Whence a smokeless incense breathes.
- The air is full of whistlings bland;
- What was that I heard
- Out of the hazy land?
- Harp of the wind, or song of bird,
- Or vagrant booming of the air,
- Voice of a meteor lost in day?
- Such tidings of the starry sphere
- Can this elastic air convey.
- Or haply 't was the cannonade
- Of the pent and darkened lake,
- Cooled by the pendent mountain's shade,
- Whose deeps, till beams of noonday break,
- Afflicted moan, and latest hold
- Even into May the iceberg cold.
- Was it a squirrel's pettish bark,
- Or clarionet of jay? or hark
- Where yon wedged line the Nestor leads,
- Steering north with raucous cry
- Through tracts and provinces of sky,
- Every night alighting down
- In new landscapes of romance,
- Where darkling feed the clamorous elana
- By lonely lakes to men unknown.
- Come the tumult whence it will,
- Voice of sport, or rush of wings,
- It is a sound, it is a token
- That the marble sleep is broken,
- And a change has passed on things.
- When late I walked, in earlier days,
- All was stiff and stark;
- Knee-deep snows choked all the ways,
- In the sky no spark;
- Firm-braced I sought my ancient woods,
- Struggling through the drifted roads;
- The whited desert knew me not,
- Snow-ridges masked each darling spot;
- The summer dells, by genius haunted,
- One arctic moon had disenchanted.
- All the sweet secrets therein hid
- By Fancy, ghastly spells undid.
- Eldest mason, Frost, had piled
- Swift cathedrals in the wild;
- The piny hosts were sheeted ghosts
- In the star-lit minster aisled.
- I found no joy: the icy wind
- Might rule the forest to his mind.
- Who would freeze on frozen lakes?
- Back to books and sheltered home,
- And wood-fire flickering on the walls,
- To hear, when, ‘mid our talk and games,
- Without the baffled north-wind calls.
- But soft! a sultry morning breaks;
- The ground-pines wash their rusty green,
- The maple-tops their crimson tint,
- On the soft path each track is seen,
- The girl's foot leaves its neater print.
- The pebble loosened from the frost Asks of the urchin to be tost.
- In flint and marble beats a heart,
- The kind Earth takes her children's part,
- The green lane is the school-boy's friend,
- Low leaves his quarrel apprehend,
- The fresh ground loves his top and ball,
- The air rings jocund to his call,
- The brimming brook invites a leap,
- He dives the hollow, climbs the steep.
- The eaged linnet in the spring
- Hearkens for the choral glee,
- When his fellows on the wing
- Migrate from the Southern Sea;
- When trellised grapes their flowers unmask,
- And the new-born tendrils twine,
- The old wine darkling in the cask
- Feels the bloom on the living vine,
- And bursts the hoops at hint of spring;
- And so, perchance, in Adam's race,
- Of Eden's bower some dream-like trace
- Survived the Flight and swam the Flood,
- And wakes the wish in youngest blood
- To tread the forfeit Paradise,
- And feed once more the exile's eyes;
- And ever when the happy child
- In May beholds the blooming wild,
- And hears in heaven the bluebird sing,
- “Onward,” he cries, “your baskets bring,—
- In the next field is air more mild,
- And o'er you hazy crest is Eden's balmier spring.”
- Not for a regiment's parade,
- Nor evil laws or rulers made,
- Blue Walden rolls its cannonade,
- But for a lofty sign
- Which the Zodiac threw,
- That the bondage-days are told,
- And waters free as winds shall flow.
- Lo! how all the tribes combine
- To rout the flying foe.
- See, every patriot oak-leaf throws
- His elfin length upon the snows,
- Not idle, since the leaf all day
- Draws to the spot the solar ray,
- Ere sunset quarrying inches down,
- And half-way to the mosses brown;
- While the grass beneath the rime
- Has hints of the propitious time,
- And upward pries and perforates
- Through the cold slab a thousand gates,
- Till green lances peering through
- Bend happy in the welkin blue.
- As we thaw frozen flesh with snow,
- So Spring will not her time forerun,
- Mix polar night with tropic glow,
- Nor cloy us with unshaded sun,
- Nor wanton skip with bacchic dance,
- But she has the temperance
- Of the gods, whereof she is one,—
- Masks her treasury of heat
- Under east-winds crossed with sleet.
- Plants and birds and humble creatures
- Well accept her rule austere;
- Titan-born, to hardy natures
- Cold is genial and dear.
- As Southern wrath to Northern right
- Is but straw to anthracite;
- As in the day of sacrifice,
- When heroes piled the pyre,
- The dismal Massachusetts ice
- Burned more than others’ fire,
- So Spring guards with surface cold
- The garnered heat of ages old.
- Hers to sow the seed of bread,
- That man and all the kinds be fed;
- And, when the sunlight fills the hours,
- Dissolves the crust, displays the flowers.
- Beneath the calm, within the light,
- A hid unruly appetite
- Of swifter life, a surer hope,
- Strains every sense to larger scope,
- Impatient to anticipate
- The halting steps of aged Fate.
- Slow grows the palm, too slow the pearl:
- When Nature falters, fain would zeal
- Grasp the felloes of her wheel,
- And grasping give the orbs another whirl.
- Turn swiftlier round, O tardy ball!
- And sun this frozen side.
- Bring hither back the robin's call,
- Bring back the tulip's pride.
- Why chidest thou the tardy Spring?
- The hardy bunting does not chide;
- The blackbirds make the maples ring
- With social cheer and jubilee;
- The redwing flutes his o-ka-lee,
- The robins know the melting snow;
- The sparrow meek, prophetic-eyed,
- Her nest beside the snow-drift weaves,
- Secure the osier yet will hide
- Her callow brood in mantling leaves,—
- And thou, by science all undone,
- Why only must thy reason fail
- To see the southing of the sun?
- The world rolls round,—mistrust it not,—
- Befalls again what once befell;
- All things return, both sphere and mote,
- And I shall hear my bluebird's note,
- And dream the dream of Auburn dell.
- April cold with dropping rain
- Willows and lilacs brings again,
- The whistle of returning birds,
- And trumpet-lowing of the herds.
- The scarlet maple-keys betray
- What potent blood hath modest May,
- What fiery force the earth renews,
- The wealth of forms, the flush of hues;
- What joy in rosy waves outpoured
- Flows from the heart of Love, the Lord.
- Hither rolls the storm of heat;
- I feel its finer billows beat
- Like a sea which me infolds;
- Heat with viewless fingers moulds,
- Swells, and mellows, and matures,
- Paints, and flavors, and allures,
- Bird and brier inly warms,
- Still enriches and transforms,
- Gives the reed and lily length,
- Adds to oak and oxen strength,
- Transforming what it doth infold,
- Life out of death, new out of old,
- Painting fawns' and leopards' fells,
- Seethes the gulf-encrimsoning shells,
- Fires gardens with a joyful blaze
- Of tulips, in the morning's rays.
- The dead log touched bursts into leaf,
- The wheat-blade whispers of the sheaf.
- What god is this imperial Heat,
- Earth's prime secret, sculpture's seat?
- Doth it bear hidden in its heart
- Water-line patterns of all art?
- Is it Dædalus? is it Love?
- Or walks in mask almighty Jove,
- And drops from Power's redundant horn
- All seeds of beauty to be born?
- Where shall we keep the holiday,
- And duly greet the entering May?
- Too strait and low our cottage doors,
- And all unmeet our carpet floors;
- Nor spacious court, nor monarch's hall,
- Suffice to hold the festival
- Up and away! where haughty woods
- Front the liberated floods:
- We will climb the broad-backed hills,
- Hear the uproar of their joy;
- We will mark the leaps and gleams
- Of the new-delivered streams,
- And the murmuring rivers of sap
- Mount in the pipes of the trees,
- Giddy with day, to the topmost spire,
- Which for a spike of tender green
- Bartered its powdery cap;
- And the colors of joy in the bird,
- And the love in its carol heard,
- Frog and lizard in holiday coats,
- And turtle brave in his golden spots;
- While cheerful cries of crag and plain
- Reply to the thunder of river and main.
- As poured the flood of the ancient sea
- Spilling over mountain chains,
- Bending forests as bends the sedge,
- Faster flowing o'er the plains,—
- A world-wide wave with a foaming edga
- That rims the running silver sheet,—
- So pours the deluge of the heat
- Broad northward o'er the land,
- Fainting artless paradises,
- Drugging herbs with Syrian spices,
- Fanning secret fires which glow
- In columbine and clover-blow,
- Climbing the northern zones,
- Where a thousand pallid towns
- Lie like cockles by the main,
- Or tented armies on a plain.
- The million-handed sculptor moulds
- Quaintest bud and blossom folds,
- The million-handed painter pours
- Opal hues and purple dye;
- Azaleas flush the island floors,
- And the tints of heaven reply.
- Wreaths for the May! for happy Spring
- To-day shall all her dowry bring,
- The love of kind, the joy, the grace,
- Hymen of element and race,
- Knowing well to celebrate
- With song and hue and star and state,
- With tender light and youthful cheer,
- The spousals of the new-born year.
- Spring is strong and virtuous,
- Broad-sowing, cheerful, plenteous,
- Quickening underneath the mould
- Grains beyond the price of gold.
- So deep and large her bounties are,
- That one broad, long midsummer day
- Shall to the planet overpay
- The ravage of a year of war.
- Drug the cup, thou butler sweet,
- And send the nectar round;
- The feet that slid so long on sleet
- Are glad to feel the ground.
- Fill and saturate each kind
- With good according to its mind,
- Fill each kind and saturate
- With good agreeing with its fate,
- And soft perfection of its plan—
- Willow and violet, maiden and man,
- The bitter-sweet, the haunting air
- Creepeth, bloweth everywhere;
- It preys on all, all prey on it,
- Blooms in beauty, thinks in wit,
- Stings the strong with enterprise,
- Hakes travellers long for Indian skies,
- And where it comes this courier fleet
- Fans in all hearts expectance sweet,
- As if to-morrow should redeem
- The vanished rose of evening's dream.
- By houses lies a fresher green,
- On men and maids a ruddier mien,
- As if time brought a new relay
- Of shining virgins every May,
- And Summer came to ripen maids
- To a beauty that not fades.
- I saw the bud-crowned Spring go forth,
- Stepping daily onward north
- To greet staid ancient cavaliers
- Filing single in stately train.
- And who, and who are the travellers?
- They were Night and Day, and Day and Night,
- Pilgrims wight with step forthright.
- I saw the Days deformed and low,
- Short and bent by cold and snow;
- The merry Spring threw wreaths on them,
- Flower-wreaths gay with bud and bell;
- Many a flower and many a gem,
- They were refreshed by the smell,
- They shook the snow from hats and shoon,
- They put their April raiment on;
- And those eternal forms,
- Unhurt by a thousand storms,
- Shot up to the height of the sky again,
- And danced as merrily as young men.
- I saw them mask their awful glance
- Sidewise meek in gossamer lids;
- And to speak my thought if none forbids
- It was as if the eternal gods,
- Tired of their starry periods,
- Hid their majesty in cloth
- Woven of tulips and painted moth.
- On carpets green the maskers march
- Below May's well-appointed arch,
- Each star, each god, each grace amain,
- Every joy and virtue speed,
- Marching duly in her train,
- And fainting Nature at her need
- Is made whole again.
- 'T was the vintage-day of field and wood,
- When magic wine for bards is brewed;
- Every tree and stem and chink
- Gushed with syrup to the brink.
- The air stole into the streets of towns,
- Refreshed the wise, reformed the clowns,
- And betrayed the fund of joy
- To the high-school and medalled boy:
- On from hall to chamber ran,
- From youth to maid, from boy to man,
- To babes, and to old eyes as well.
- ‘Once more,’ the old man cried, ‘ye clouds,
- Airy turrets purple-piled,
- Which once my infancy beguiled,
- Beguile me with the wonted spell.
- I know ye skillful to convoy
- The total freight of hope and joy
- Into rude and homely nooks,
- Shed mocking lustres on shelf of books,
- On farmer's byre, on pasture rude,
- And stony pathway to the wood.
- I care not if the pomps you show
- Be what they soothfast appear,
- Or if yon realms in sunset glow
- Be bubbles of the atmosphere.
- And if it be to you allowed
- To fool me with a shining cloud,
- So only new griefs are consoled
- By new delights, as old by old,
- Frankly I will be your guest,
- Count your change and cheer the best.
- The world hath overmuch of pain,—
- If Nature give me joy again,
- Of such deceit I'll not complain.’
- Ah! well I mind the calendar,
- Faithful through a thousand years,
- Of the painted race of flowers,
- Exact to days, exact to hours,
- Counted on the spacious dial
- Yon broidered zodiac girds.
- I know the trusty almanac
- Of the punctual coming-back,
- On their due days, of the birds.
- I marked them yestermorn,
- A flock of finches darting
- Beneath the crystal arch,
- Piping, as they flew, a march,—
- Belike the one they used in parting
- Last year from yon oak or larch;
- Dusky sparrows in a crowd,
- Diving, darting northward free,
- Suddenly betook them all,
- Every one to his hole in the wall,
- Or to his niche in the apple-tree.
- I greet with joy the choral trains
- Fresh from palms and Cuba's canes.
- Best gems of Nature's cabinet,
- With dews of tropic morning wet,
- Beloved of children, bards and Spring,
- O birds, your perfect virtues bring,
- Your song, your forms, your rhythmic flight,
- Your manners for the heart's delight,
- Nestle in hedge, or barn, or roof,
- Here weave your chamber weather-proof,
- Forgive our harms, and condescend
- To man, as to a lubber friend,
- And, generous, teach his awkward race
- Courage and probity and grace!
- Poets praise that hidden wine
- Hid in milk we drew
- At the barrier of Time,
- When our life was new.
- We had eaten fairy fruit,
- We were quick from head to foot,
- All the forms we looked on shone
- As with diamond dews thereon.
- What cared we for costly joys,
- The Museum's far-fetched toys?
- Gleam of sunshine on the wall
- Poured a deeper cheer than all
- The revels of the Carnival.
- We a pine-grove did prefer
- To a marble theatre,
- Could with gods on mallows dine,
- Nor cared for spices or for wine.
- Wreaths of mist and rainbow spanned,
- Arch on arch, the grimmest land;
- Whistle of a woodland bird
- Made the pulses dance,
- Note of horn in valleys heard
- Filled the region with romance.
- None can tell how sweet,
- How virtuous, the morning air;
- Every accent vibrates well;
- Not alone the wood-bird's call,
- Or shouting boys that chase their ball,
- Pass the height of minstrel skill,
- But the ploughman's thoughtless cry,
- Lowing oxen, sheep that bleat,
- And the joiner's hammer-beat,
- Softened are above their will,
- Take tones from groves they wandered through
- Or flutes which passing angels blew.
- All grating discords melt,
- No dissonant note is dealt,
- And though thy voice be shrill
- Like rasping file on steel,
- Such is the temper of the air,
- Echo waits with art and care,
- And will the faults of song repair.
- So by remote Superior Lake,
- And by resounding Mackinac,
- When northern storms the forest shake,
- And billows on the long beach break,
- The artful Air will separate
- Note by note all sounds that grate,
- Smothering in her ample breast
- All but godlike words,
- Reporting to the happy ear
- Only purified accords.
- Strangely wrought from barking waves,
- Soft music daunts the Indian braves,—
- Convent-chanting which the child
- Hears pealing from the panther's cave
- And the impenetrable wild.
- Soft on the south-wind sleeps the haze:
- So on thy broad mystic van
- Lie the opal-colored days,
- And waft the miracle to man.
- Soothsayer of the eldest gods,
- Repairer of what harms betide,
- Revealer of the inmost powers
- Prometheus proffered, Jove denied;
- Disclosing treasures more than true,
- Or in what far to-morrow due;
- Speaking by the tongues of flowers,
- By the ten-tongued laurel speaking,
- Singing by the oriole songs,
- Heart of bird the man's heart seeking;
- Whispering hints of treasure hid
- Under Morn's unlifted lid,
- Islands looming just beyond
- The dim horizon's utmost bound;—
- Who can, like thee, our rags upbraid,
- Or taunt us with our hope decayed?
- Or who like thee persuade,
- Making the splendor of the air,
- The morn and sparkling dew, a snare?
- Or who resent
- Thy genius, wiles and blandishment?
- There is no orator prevails
- To beckon or persuade
- Like thee the youth or maid;
- Thy birds, thy songs, thy brooks, thy gales,
- Thy blooms, thy kinds,
- Thy echoes in the wilderness,
- Soothe pain, and age, and love's distress,
- Fire fainting will, and build heroic minds.
- For thou, O Spring! canst renovate
- All that high God did first create.
- Be still his arm and architect,
- Rebuild the ruin, mend defect;
- Chemist to vamp old worlds with new,
- Coat sea and sky with heavenlier blue,
- New tint the plumage of the birds,
- And slough decay from grazing herds,
- Sweep ruins from the scarped mountain,
- Cleanse the torrent at the fountain,
- Purge alpine air by towns defiled,
- Bring to fair mother fairer child,
- Not less renew the heart and brain,
- Scatter the sloth, wash out the stain,
- Make the aged eye sun-clear,
- To parting soul bring grandeur near.
- Under gentle types, my Spring
- Masks the might of Nature's king,
- An energy that searches thorough
- From Chaos to the dawning morrow;
- Into all our human plight,
- The soul's pilgrimage and flight;
- In city or in solitude,
- Step by step, lifts bad to good,
- Without halting, without rest,
- Lifting Better up to Best;
- Planting seeds of knowledge pure,
- Through earth to ripen, through heaven endure.

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may-day. - Ralph Waldo Emerson, The Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson, vol. 9 (Poems) [1909]

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may-day.