Poetry Sunday: It is Not Always May by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Can it really be May already? Where did those first four months go? But as Henry Wadsworth Longfellow pointed out in this poem, it will not always be May. Soon enough June will arrive and we will wonder where those first five months have gone. So let us enjoy the pleasures of this month while they last. It is Not Always May by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow No hay pajaros en los nidos de antano. Spanish Proverb The sun is bright,--the air is clear, The darting swallows soar and sing. And from the stately elms I hear The bluebird prophesying Spring. So blue yon winding river flows, It seems an outlet from the sky, Where waiting till the west-wind blows, The freighted clouds at anchor lie. All things are new;--the buds, the leaves, That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest, And even the nest beneath the eaves;-- There are no birds in last year's nest! All things rejoice in youth and love, The fulness of their first delight! And learn from the soft hea...