I see you there upon the hill.
Do not run away,
Little Boy who never grew old.
I am Lady May.
The children will not mind you here,
Watching your old game.
They will know you're one of them,
They have your old name.
You might have been their grandfather Had you lived to grow old. They have your wondering wide blue eyes, They have your curls of gold.
On the green carpet here we stand…
They join hands in their ring,
Take your true low by the hand…
As you sang once, they sing.
You played this green game long ago,
Chose one you loved the best
Before you went up in the pines
And closed your eyes to rest.
You are forever young, David,
They will never cut your curls.
Your farm is blue with violets.
You are these boys and girls.
Your new Father, who was not yet born
When you died, is sowing this year's corn;
Your new Big Brother is putting Father's pair
Of trousers On a wooden man to scare
The crows out of the corn when it shows green.
Mays are always the same Mays. You have seen
This new Hound-Dog halfway out of sight
Digging the Woodchuck out. It is all right,
The Woodchuck will escape. He always does.
Your new Small Brother is blowing the white fuzz
Off ghosts of dandelions. Spinster Aunt is drying
Her long hair in the sun. Mother is frying
Doughnuts in the kitchen. Little Sister
Is eating the centers, and she's got a blister
From one too hot. The Hired Man plants beans.
Big Sister's digging dandelion greens.
Mother will cook them in her iron pot
Six hours with a pig's jowl, serve them hot,
Part of them pig, part of them chlorophyll,
But most of them the sun-god on a hill!
Grandpa's fallen asleep from sounds of bees
In pink heavens of blossomed apple trees.
The cows are far, their wide mouths smell of clover,
Swallows on twinkling wings are swimming over
The high blue sky. Robins sing again And again
their throbbing song for rain,
But it is fair as heaven. Grandma tries
To catch the first of the bluebottle flies
In the pantry. Uncle's made the boat
He made for you so often. May flies float
The hour that they live. The hours stay
Still forever, for this month is May.
The sky grows higher with the evening light.
The thrush will always sing, there'll be no night.
Spring is a little boy
Who runs and runs,
Boys and Springs never fade
Under brightest suns.
The curls upon your head
Will stay new gold,
O Boy who never grew up
And never grew old!
Run fast, Little Boy,
Keep up with Spring!
Run fast and stand still
Like a hummingbird's wing!
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