May Poem by John Critchley Prince

May, May! song-honoured May!
Whom the youthful poet has loved alway,
What has become of thy genial air,
Thy voices of music everywhere;—
The blessed blue of thy kindly skies,
Thy blooms that greet us with sweet surprise,
Thy hedgerows covered with odorous snow,
Thy waters that laugh with joy as they go?
Why art thou sullen and sad to-day,
Song-honoured May?

May, May! ever-welcome May!
How strangely thou lookest on earth to-day,
Cloudy and tearful, cold and wild,
Like a petulant woman, or wayward child!
Has winter been striving to keep thee back?
Have his bullying gales waylaid thy track?
Or is there a change 'mid the stars sublime?
Or a fitful pause in the flight of time?
Thy name is here, but thy presence away,
Ever-welcome May!

May, May! salubrious May!
We were wont to make merry thy natal day,
But custom, and feeling, are altered now,
And the people are changed even more than thou:
But we used to wander, in days of old,
Through fields of floral silver and gold,
Catching the apple-tree's breath and bloom,
And the ancient hawthorn's heavy perfume,
While our glad hearts beat with a healthful play,
Salubrious May!

But nothing goes wrong in the hands of God,
For His bounty lives in the quiet sod,
Whether clothed in the garb of frost or flower,
Or the liberal harvest's golden dower.
With a thoughtless spirit we oft complain,
But the doings of Nature are ne'er in vain,
For Wisdom governs the humblest things,
And Love o'ershadows with guardian wings:
In God's just power there is no delay,
O glorious May!