The Month of May

May Day( by Sara Teasdale)

A delicate fabric of bird song 
Floats in the air, 

The smell of wet wild earth 

Is everywhere. 

Red small leaves of the maple 

Are clenched like a hand, 

Like girls at their first communion 

The pear trees stand.

Oh I must pass nothing by 

Without loving it much, 

The raindrop try with my lips, 

The grass with my touch;

For how can I be sure 

I shall see again 

The world on the first of May 

Shining after the rain?

Sara Teasdale ( 1884 - 1933)- American poet http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BAq2LlBpiyg