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Christina Rossetti: Poems

May


I cannot tell you how it was;

But this I know: it came to pass

Upon a bright and breezy day

When May was young; ah, pleasant May!

As yet the poppies were not born

Between the blades of tender corn;

The last eggs had not hatched as yet,

Nor any bird forgone its mate.


I cannot tell you what it was;

But this I know: it did but pass. 10

It passed away with sunny May,

With all sweet things it passed away,

And left me old, and cold, and grey.

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