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Hilaire Belloc - May
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	This is the laughing-eyed amongst them all:
	My lady`s month.  A season of young things.
	She rules the light with harmony, and brings
	The year`s first green upon the beeches tall.
	How often, where long creepers wind and fall
	Through the deep woods in noonday wanderings,
	I’ve heard the month, when she to echo sings,
	I`ve heard the month make merry madrigal.

	How often, bosomed in the breathing strong
	Of mosses and young flowerets, have I lain
	And watched the clouds, and caught the sheltered song -
	Which it were more than life to hear again -
	Of those small birds that pipe it all day long
	Not far from Marly by the memoried Seine.
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