May

I cannot tell you how it was
But this I know: it came to pass
Upon a bright and sunny day
When May was young; ah, pleasant May!
As yet the poppies were not born
Between the blades of tender corn;
The last egg had not hatched as yet
Nor any bird foregone its mate

I cannot tell you what it was
But this I know: it did but pass
It passed away with sunny May
Like all sweet things it passed away
And left me old, and cold, and gray