Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1921/May

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THE DARK CUP
I
May
A delicate fabric of bird-song Floats in the air,The smell of wet wild earth Is everywhere.
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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 rain drop try with my lips, The grass with my touch;
For how can I be sure I shall see againThe world on the first of May Shining after the rain?

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