Below is a poem by Emily Dickinson about May Day. There are many interpretations of this poem, including the belief tht in it she prophesies her own death.
There is a morn by men unseen –
1858 Whose maids upon remoter green
Keep their Seraphic May –
And all day long, with dance and game,
And gambol I may never name –
Employ their holiday.
Here to light measure, move the feet
Which walk no more the village street –
Nor by the wood are found –
Here are the birds that sought the sun
When last year’s distaff idle hung
And summer’s brows were bound.
Ne’er saw I such a wondrous scene –
Ne’er such a ring on such a green –
As if the stars some summer night
Should swing their cups of Chrysolite –
And revel till the day –
Like thee to dance – like thee to sing –
People upon the mystic green –
I ask, each May Morn.
I wait thy far, fantastic bells –
Announcing me in other dells –
Unto the different dawn!
1 comment:
And it's already June!
Well, May came and went - and out here, it was far from seraphaic; it was cold and wet, which is normal, but the leaves are out, the garden is planted, the shrubs have flowered -- in sum, it was a good month - now, on to summer!
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