May And The Poets

There is May in books forever;
May will part from Spenser never;
Mays in Milton, Mays in Prior,
Mays in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer;
Mays in all the Italian books:
She has old and modern nooks,
Where she sleeps with nymphs and elves,
In happy places they call shelves,
And will rise and dress your rooms
With a drapery thick with blooms.
Come, ye rains, then if ye will,
Mays at home, and with me still;
But come rather, thou, good weather,
And find us in the fields together.

James Henry Leigh Hunt

James Henry Leigh Hunt was an English critic, essayist, and poet, born on October 19, 1784, in Southgate, London. He was a central figure of the Romantic movement and is best known for his poems 'Jenny Kissed Me' and 'Abou Ben Adhem.' Hunt also co-founded the influential literary periodical, 'The Examiner', in 1808. He had a significant impact on his contemporaries, including John Keats and Percy Bysshe Shelley. Hunt passed away on August 28, 1859, in Putney, London.

James Henry Leigh Hunt

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James Henry Leigh Hunt, Simple Poetry

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James Henry Leigh Hunt, Simple Poetry

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James Henry Leigh Hunt, Simple Poetry

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James Henry Leigh Hunt, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

May

Now comes the bonny May, dancing and skipping
Across the stepping-stones of meadow streams,
Bearing no kin to April showers a-weeping,
But constant Sunshine as her servant seems.
Her heart is up--her sweetness, all a-maying,
Streams in her face, like gems on Beauty's breast;
The swains are sighing all, and well-a-daying,
Lovesick and gazing on their lovely guest.
The Sunday paths, to pleasant places leading,
Are graced by couples linking arm in arm,
Sweet smiles enjoying or some book a-reading,
Where Love and Beauty are the constant charm;
For while the bonny May is dancing by,
Beauty delights the ear, and Beauty fills the eye.

Birds sing and build, and Nature scorns alone
On May's young festival to be a widow;
The children, too, have pleasures all their...

John Clare

May.

New flowery scents strewed everywhere,
New sunshine poured in largesse fair,
"We shall be happy now," we say.
A voice just trembles through the air,
And whispers, "May."

Nay, but we MUST! No tiny bud
But thrills with rapture at the flood
Of fresh young life which stirs to-day.
The same wild thrill irradiates our blood;
Why hint of "May"?

For us are coming fast and soon
The delicate witcheries of June;
July, with ankles deep in hay;
The bounteous Autumn. Like a mocking tune
Again sounds, "May."

Spring's last-born darling, clear-eyed, sweet,
Pauses a moment, with white twinkling feet,
And golden locks in breezy play,
Half teasing and half tender, to repeat
Her song of "May."

Ah, month of hope! all promised glee,
A...

Susan Coolidge

Sudden Fine Weather

Reader! what soul that loaves a verse can see
The spring return, nor glow like you and me?
Hear the quick birds, and see the landscape fill,
Nor long to utter his melodious will?

This more than ever leaps into the veins,
When spring has been delay'd by winds and rains,
And coming with a burst, comes like a show,
Blue all above, and basking green below,
And all the people culling the sweet prime:
Then issues forth the bee to clutch the thyme,
And the bee poet rushes into rhyme.

For lo! no sooner has the cold withdrawn,
Than the bright elm is tufted on the lawn;
The merry sap has run up in the bowers,
And bursts the windows of the buds in flowers;
With song the bosoms of the birds run o'er,
The cuckoo calls, the swallow's at the door,
And apple-...

James Henry Leigh Hunt

To The Grasshopper And The Cricket

Green little vaulter in the sunny grass,
Catching your heart up at the feel of June,
Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon,
When even the bees lag at the summoning brass;
And you, warm little housekeeper, who class
With those who think the candles come too soon,
Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune
Nick the glad silent moments as they pass;
Oh sweet and tiny cousins, that belong
One to the fields, the other to the hearth,
Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong
At your clear hearts; and both were sent on earth
To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song:
Indoors and out, summer and winter,--Mirth.

James Henry Leigh Hunt

To May

Though many suns have risen and set
Since thou, blithe May, wert born,
And Bards, who hailed thee, may forget
Thy gift, thy beauty scorn;
There are who to a birthday strain
Confine not harp and voice,
But evermore throughout thy reign
Are grateful and rejoice!

Delicious odor! music sweet,
Too sweet to pass away!
Oh for a deathless song to meet
The soul's desire, a lay
That, when a thousand year are told,
Should praise thee, genial Power!
Through summer heat, autumnal cold,
And winter's dreariest hour.

Earth, sea, thy presence feel, nor less,
If yon ethereal blue
With its soft smile the truth express,
The heavens have felt it too.
The inmost heart of man if glad
Partakes a livelier cheer;
And eye that cannot but be sad<...

William Wordsworth

May.

Oh the merry May has pleasant hours,
    And dreamily they glide,
As if they floated like the leaves
    Upon a silver tide.
The trees are full of crimson buds,
    And the woods are full of birds,
And the waters flow to music
    Like a tune with pleasant words.

The verdure of the meadow-land
    Is creeping to the hills,
The sweet, blue-bosom'd violets
    Are blowing by the rills;
The lilac has a load of balm
    For every wind that stirs,
And the larch stands green and beautiful
    Amid the sombre firs.

There's perfume upon every wind -
    Music in every tree -
Dews for the moisture-loving flowers -
    Sweets for the sucking bee;
The sick come forth for the healing South,
    The young are gathering flowers;
And...

Nathaniel Parker Willis