I pass the feeder and yell, Grackle party! And then an hour later I yell, Mourning dove afterparty! (I call the feeder the party and the seed on the ground the afterparty.) I am getting so good at watching that...
I know not what to do— My mind is reft. Is song's gift best? Is love's gift loveliest? I know not what to do, Now sleep has pressed Weight on your eyelids.
Shall I break your rest, Devouring, eager? Is love's gift best?— Nay, song's the loveliest. Yet, were you lost, What...
In springtime, chief of all seasons, in May when new joys rise and flourish, the sun is lord and messenger at once and sends down to us to rouse our bodies and be merry: humankind to...
In a sesone of somere þat souerayne ys of alle,
Þat was þe myry monþ of May when many myrthys spryng,
Þe sonne ys somnore and syre and sendyth tyl vs doun,
And byddyth vs bisy for to be oure bodys for to glade;
Man for to myrth hym in al maner wys,
Bestys for to buske ham on bentys tyl abyde,