Sunday, May 1, 2011
First of May
Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven without repose
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.
Thoough closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlor cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.
The dusty attic, spider-clad,
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad
And though the broken edge of tiles,
Into the laddered hayloft smiles.
Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.
Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air, with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.
~Summer Sun by Robert Louis Stevenson