Christina Rossetti — Maiden May

Maiden May sat in her bower, In her blush rose bower in flower,                 Sweet of scent; Sat and dreamed away an hour,         Half content, half uncontent. "Why should rose blossoms be born, Tender blossoms, on a thorn                 Though so sweet? Never a thorn besets the corn         Scentless in its strength complete. "Why are roses all so frail, At the mercy of the gale,                 Of a breath? Yet so sweet and perfect pale,         Still so sweet in life and death." Maiden May sat in her bower, In her blush rose bower in flower,                 Where a linnet Made one bristling branch the tower         For her nest and young ones in it. "Gay and clear the linnet trills; Yet the skylark only, thrills                 Heaven and earth When he breasts the height, and fills         Height and depth with song and mirth. "Nightingales which yield to night Solitary strange delight,                 Reign alone: But the lark for all his height         Fills no solitary throne; "While he sings, a hundred sing; Wing their flight below his wing                 Yet in flight; Each a lovely joyful thing         To the measure of its delight. "Why then should a lark be reckoned One alone, without a second                 Near his throne? He in skyward flight unslackened,         In his music, not alone." Maiden May sat in her bower; Her own face was like a flower                 Of the prime, Half in sunshine, half in shower,         In the year's most tender time. Her own thoughts in silent song Musically flowed along,                 Wise, unwise, Wistful, wondering, weak or strong:         As brook shallows sink or rise. Other thoughts another day, Maiden May, will surge and sway                 Round your heart; Wake, and plead, and turn at bay,         Wisdom part, and folly part. Time not far remote will borrow Other joys, another sorrow,                 All for you; Not to-day, and yet to-morrow         Reasoning false and reasoning true. Wherefore greatest? Wherefore least? Hearts that starve and hearts that feast?                 You and I? Stammering Oracles have ceased,         And the whole earth stands at "why?" Underneath all things that be Lies an unsolved mystery;                 Over all Spreads a veil impenetrably,         Spreads a dense unlifted pall. Mystery of mysteries: This creation hears and sees                 High and low-- Vanity of vanities:         This we test and this we know. Maiden May, the days of flowering Nurse you now in sweet embowering,                 Sunny days; Bright with rainbows all the showering,         Bright with blossoms all the ways. Close the inlet of your bower, Close it close with thorn and flower,                 Maiden May; Lengthen out the shortening hour,--         Morrows are not as to-day. Stay to-day which wanes too soon, Stay the sun and stay the moon,                 Stay your youth; Bask you in the actual noon,         Rest you in the present truth. Let to-day suffice to-day: For itself to-morrow may                 Fetch its loss; Aim and stumble, say its say,         Watch and pray and bear its cross.