Poem 9 : 
May Day, 1894
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People :
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Author : William Morris

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Clad is the year in all her best,  
   The land is sweet and sheen;  
Now Spring with Summer at her breast,  
   Ges down the meadows green.  

Here are we met to welcome in  
   The young abounding year,  
To praise what she would have us win  
   Ere winter draweth near.  

For surely all is not in vain,  
   This gallant show she brings;  
But seal of hope and sign of gain,  
   Beareth this Spring of springs.  

No longer now the seasons wear  
   Dull, without any tale  
Of how the chain the toilers bear  
   Is growing thin and frail.  

But hope of plenty and goodwill  
   Flies forth from land to land,  
Nor any now the voice can still  
   That crieth on the hand.  

A little while shall Spring come back  
   And find the Ancient Home  
Yet marred by foolish waste and lack,  
   And most enthralled by some.  

A little while, and then at last  
   Shall the greetings of the year  
Be blent with wonder of the past  
   And all the griefs that were.  

A little while, and they that meet  
   The living year to praise,  
Shall be to them as music sweet  
   That grief of bye-gone days.  

So be we merry to our best,  
   Now the land is sweet and sheen,  
And Spring with Summer at her breast  
   Ges down the meadows green.  


     From : Marxists.org

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     Poem 9 -- Added : February 20, 2021

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