One Spring day Samuel Pepys (1633-
1703) goes for a rambling country stroll,
walking through fields until,
as he later writes,
'the beautiful idea within
the dew' comes to him,
because he encounters
neighbors purposely washing
their faces in it,
kneeling while he stands
watching them gather
glittering droplets
in the morning sun.
This, Pepys sees at once,
is the way that May should
properly begin.
He remembers this
custom lifelong, and even dreams
about it - a fortunate
omen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem