This morn I saw a troop go by,
Dragging a damsel, white and shy,
Whose small, soft feet, as pink as shells,
Tinkled like little rosy bells:
"Come out! Come out! Come out to-day
And fill the pipes of Time with play!"
I ran by leafy path and pool,
I followed them through shadows cool,
And, in the greenest, mossy place,
Where Silence lifts her grave, still face,
I watched them loose the damsel fair
And dance about her light as air.
On pipe and lyre and grassy flute.
They made a song that kept me mute,
The while she tapped her little feet
And on the earth a music beat
As wild as laughter Pan might chase
Through flowery fields of haunted Thrace.
I yearned to join the revel dance,
And, like a leaf of old romance,
I fluttered nearer to the ring,
And made my warm voice lilt and sing:
"Be kind! Be kind! O things of air!
And let my heart this rapture share!"
They called me in with sunlit eyes,
They bade me welcome in surprise;
But when I sought to touch them, lo!
From fragrant finger-tips aglow
A million violets they blew
And scented all the valley through.
And then I knew the damsel there,
Her snowy arms, her golden hair.
It was the lily-sender May
With all her happy maids at play,
Mocking the winter while the hill
Was yellow as a daffodil.
First published in The Bulletin, 5 May 1921
