Sara Teasdale — May Day

A delicate fabric of bird song        &nbsp Floats in the air, The smell of wet wild earth        &nbsp Is everywhere. Red small leaves of the maple        &nbsp Are clenched like a hand, Like girls at their first communion        &nbsp The pear trees stand. Oh I must pass nothing by        &nbsp Without loving it much, The raindrop try with my lips,        &nbsp The grass with my touch; For how can I be sure        &nbsp I shall see again The world on the first of May        &nbsp Shining after the rain?