The Promise of May. 23 



blight marsh marigolds, and on the banks will gather 

 in a soft lavender cloud ' the faint sweet cuckoo- 

 flowers.' 



Alas ! when May has come with all its bloom and 

 sweetness we shiver in the cool twilight, and sigh for 

 the sun of summer and the green canopies of June 

 We look in vain for the leafage of the elm, we miss 

 the perfume of the lime. We think that after all it 

 must be in June 



' When all the world is young, lad, 

 And all the trees are green.' 



Ah ! it is the old story : 



' Life still ebbs away. 

 Man is ever weary, weary, 

 Waiting for the May. ' 



