136
POEMS.
MAY.
HE voice of one who goes before to makeThe paths of June more beautiful, is thine,
Sweet May! Without an envy of her crown
And bridal; patient stringing emeralds
And sh1n1ng rubies for the brows of birch
And maple; flinging garlands of pure white
And pink, which to their bloom add prophecy;
Gold cups o'er-filling on a thousand hills
And calling honey-bees; out of their sleep
The tiny summer harpers with bright wings
Awaking, teaching them their notes for noon;—
O May, sweet-voiced one, going thus before,
Forever June may pour her warm red wine
Of life and passion,—sweeter days are thine!
THE SIMPLE KING.
HE king, the royal, simple king,Whom in bold lovingness I sing,
Will not be buried when he dies,
As kings are buried. Where he lies,
No regal monument will show;
No worldly pilgrim-feet will go;
No heraldry, with blazoned sign,
Will keep the record of his line.
No man will know his kingdom's bound;
No man his subjects' grief will sound.
His crown will not lie low with him;
His crown will never melt nor dim.
