Page:Flame and Shadow.djvu/84

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MAY DAY

A delicate fabric of bird song
Floats in the air,
The smell of wet wild earth
Is everywhere.


Red small leaves of the maple
Are clenched like a hand,
Like girls at their first communion
The pear trees stand.


Oh I must pass nothing by
Without loving it much,
The raindrop try with my lips,
The grass with my touch;


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