Amy Levy

(1861 - 10 September 1889 / London)

On The Wye In May - Poem by Amy Levy

Now is the perfect moment of the year.
Half naked branches, half a mist of green,
Vivid and delicate the slopes appear;
The cool, soft air is neither fierce nor keen,

And in the temperate sun we feel no fear;
Of all the hours which shall be and have been,
It is the briefest as it is most dear,
It is the dearest as the shortest seen.

O it was best, belovèd, at the first.--
Our hands met gently, and our meeting sight
Was steady; on our senses scarce had burst
The faint, fresh fragrance of the new delight. . .

I seek that clime, unknown, without a name,
Where first and best and last shall be the same.


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Read poems about / on: green, fear, sun



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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