Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MAY FLOWER; INSCRIBED TO A VERY DEAR FRIEND, by JANET HAMILTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MAY FLOWER; INSCRIBED TO A VERY DEAR FRIEND, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: May, sweet may! This branch of blossom
Last Line: My will to heaven, live unrepining.
Alternate Author Name(s): Hamilton, Janet Thompson
Subject(s): Friendship; Gifts & Giving; Hawthorn; May (month)


MAY, sweet May! this branch of blossom
From thy fragrant, beauteous bosom
I accept, and clasp the treasure
To my breast with grateful pleasure.

Dear the gift, and dear the giver,
Whose loving hand is near me ever
To shield from care—the mother ailing,
To cheer her heart and spirits failing.

Thanks, sweet May! thy gift I cherish,
Soon, alas! too soon to perish;
Though a thing of beauty, never
Canst thou be a joy for ever.

Thy snowy blossoms freshly blooming,
With their odorous breath perfuming
The chamber small, where still I treasure
Thy floral gift, sweet May! with pleasure.

I press them to my cheek, inhaling
Sweet Nature's incense, still exhaling
From thy verdant lap o'erflowing
With flowery blooms, bright-hued and glowing.

Branch of May! the dews of morning
Twinkle on thy leaves, adorning
The pearly blooms that richly cluster
On each spray with sparkling lustre.

Ere from parent tree dissever'd,
Wood-notes rung and bright wings quiver'd
Through the branches—every blossom
Brush'd by some soft feathery bosom.

The songster thrush, the blackbird mellow,
The black-capp'd bullfinch, dear bright fellow,
There build, and brood, and warble clearly;
They haunt and love the hawthorn dearly.

Now the sun of June uncloses
The fragrant treasures of the roses:
Queenly flower, soft, balmy, blushing!
The glen, the grove, with beauty flushing.

On bank and mead, in copse and wildwood,
Wilding flowers, beloved from childhood,
In sweet profusion greet me smiling,
Cares and toils and tears beguiling.

Memory ever fondly clinging
To the past, before me bringing,
With deepest, sweetest fascination,
Past scenes of love and admiration.

Sweet May, adieu! oh! not in sorrow,
Though now a night, that knows no morrow,
Broods on my eyes; yet I, resigning
My will to heaven, live unrepining.





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