John Shaw Neilson

May

Shyly the silver-hatted mushrooms make
   Soft entrance through,
And undelivered lovers, half awake,
   Hear noises in the dew
 
Yellow in all the earth and in the skies,
   The world would seem
Faint as a widow mourning with soft eyes
   And falling into dream.
 
Up the long hill I see the slow plough leave
   Furrows of brown;
Dim is the day and beautiful: I grieve
   To see the sun go down.
 
But there are suns a many for mine eyes
   Day after day:
Delightsome in grave greenery they rise,
   Red oranges in May.
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