  WHEN chinks in April’s windy dome Let through a day of June, And foot and thought incline to roam, And every sound’s a tune; When Nature fills a fuller cup, And hides with green the gray,— Then, lover, pluck your courage up Though proud she was as sunset clad In Autumn’s fruity shades, Love too is proud, and brings (gay lad!) Humility to maids. Scorn not from nature’s mood to learn, Take counsel of the day: Since haughty skies to tender turn, Go try your fate in May. Though cold she seemed as pearly light Adown December eves, And stern as night when March winds smite The beech’s lingering leaves; Yet Love hath seasons like the year, And grave will turn to gay,— Then, lover, hearken not to fear, But try your fate in May. And you whose art it is to hide The constant love you feel: Beware, lest overmuch of pride Your happiness shall steal. No longer pout, for May is here, And hearts will have their way; Love’s in the calendar, my dear, So yield to fate—and May! Robert Underwood Johnson. |
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