The May Morning Poem by Grace Greenwood

THE morning brightness showereth down from heaven;
The morning freshness goeth up from earth;
The morning gladness shineth everywhere!
Soon as the sun, in glorious panoply,
Parting the crimson curtains of his tent,
Begins the day's proud march, the voice of song
And flush of beauty live along his way!
The maiden flowers, whom all the dreamy night
The starlight vainly wooed, with wan, cold smile,
Blush as his presence breathes upon their bloom,
And feel his kiss through all their glowing veins,
And shake the night-dew from their joyous heads,
And pour thick perfumes on the golden air.

The trees bow at his coming, and look brave
In all the richness of their new attire;
The Aspen's shining leaves give back his smile,
Dancing in glee, yet whispering in awe,
Like bashful maidens at some gorgeous fête,
Graced by a monarch's presence; aged Oaks
Grow young again at their stout, loyal hearts;
The stately brotherhood of mountain Pines
Give forth a solemn greeting, like a band
Of stern old monks, in sombre vestments clad.
Like Ganymedè, the Magnolia stands,
Graceful and fair; his silver chalice lifts,
Brimmed with night's nectar, to the thirsty god.
The garden Lilac, rich in purple bloom,
Scatters her royal largess far and wide;
And the warm bosom of the opening Rose
Pants out its odorous sighs to the 'sweet south,'
That soft-plumed, low-voiced rover from afar,
Whose wings are heavy with the perfume stolen
From the cleft hearts of his forsaken loves.
The Mignonette breathes tenderly and deep,
The pure home-fragrance of a humble heart
And even the tiny Violet can make
Her little circle sweet as love; the Vine,
Swaying in mid-air to the frolic wind,
Rains scented blossoms on the clover tufts,
And cheerful daisies, lighting up the grass.
The Robin and the Oriole awake
With the first sunshine glancing on their wings,
To thrill the young leaves quivering round their nests
With glad, wild gushes of exulting song, —
To pour swift waves of clear, delicious sound,
Fresh and rejoicing, on the morning air.

The lake looks up to heaven, and smiles to see
Those vast, high courts with his own color hung;
The waves, with whispers and low laughter, steal
Along the shore, to meet the honeyed kiss
Of the pale lilies, drooping faint with love.
Like some young mountain shepherd, whose fair maid,
Far down the vale, upon a gala morn,
Awaits his coming, the impetuous stream
Leaps down the hill-side, singing as it goes.

Yet, O fair sky! O green and flowery earth!
Your morning gladness in this bright May-time,
With visible glow and music-utterance,
Is all imperfect, faint, and dim, beside
The viewless, voiceless, unimagined joy
That maketh bloom and sunshine in my heart,
That fills my soul with hopes more bright than flowers,
And thoughts far sweeter than the voice of birds!

The arctic winter which closed round me long,
And hung all heaven with tempests, hath gone by;
The fear, the sorrow, and the wild despair
Which made a darkness deeper than the night,
And storm that mocked the loud and maddened strife
Of the roused elements, — all, all gone by!
A sky of love is bending o'er me now,
And airs serene are breathing round my paths:
The rich midsummer of my life is here!

O Thou, whose hand rolled back the clouds of fear,
Whose voice spake 'peace' to sorrow's whelming deeps,
And in mid-heaven stayed the shadowy wing
Of death's swift angel, — what meet offering
Hath my glad soul to lay upon thy shrine?
Prayers and rapt vigils? or song's votive wreaths,
Dewy with grateful tears? a pilgrim's vows?
Saint-like observance of all sacred rites
And holy days? Not these, not these, my soul;
But the sweet offering of a loving heart, —
But the rich offering of a free-born mind, —
But the long offering of an earnest life.