27.03.2008, 21:37
May 25th, 1844
How strange the cold ungenial atmosphere,
Beneath the cover of so bright a sky!
Each way-side flower hath oped its little eye;
The very coyest buds of all the year
Have ventured forth to see if all be clear.
Full-leaved the pendant birches droop and sigh;
The oak is clothed in vernal majesty;
White-chaliced lilies float upon the mere.
The very warmth that made this world of beauty
Is summon'd to another tract of duty,
And leaves a substitute so stern and cold,
We half reget old Winter's honest rule,
The roaring chimney and the log of yule:
May hath such airs as May had not of old.
How strange the cold ungenial atmosphere,
Beneath the cover of so bright a sky!
Each way-side flower hath oped its little eye;
The very coyest buds of all the year
Have ventured forth to see if all be clear.
Full-leaved the pendant birches droop and sigh;
The oak is clothed in vernal majesty;
White-chaliced lilies float upon the mere.
The very warmth that made this world of beauty
Is summon'd to another tract of duty,
And leaves a substitute so stern and cold,
We half reget old Winter's honest rule,
The roaring chimney and the log of yule:
May hath such airs as May had not of old.