MAY by John Shaw Neilson

Shyly the silver-hatted mushrooms make
     Soft entrance through,
And undelivered lovers, half awake,
     Hear noises in the dew

Yellow in all the earth and in the skies,      The world would seem Faint as a widow mourning with soft eyes      And falling into dream.
Up the long hill I see the slow plough leave      Furrows of brown; Dim is the day and beautiful: I grieve      To see the sun go down.
But there are suns a many for mine eyes      Day after day: Delightsome in grave greenery they rise,      Red oranges in May.

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