Maytime
Maiden Kent in her first blush of blossom
Led in the Maytime to an orchard bridal Uphill and downland black gorse put to the torch Takes the coin of the sun and scatters it In the path of wayfarers amid weddings Who weave among reed-beds bittern and weed To water-sheets In the deep woodland waits A reflected heaven All the trees breathing a blue gas Drift in a lake of altered consciousness And all the bells are birds |