A Wild, Wet May
A
HIGH wind, a wild wind,
The wet trees blowing,
Green boughs on gray sky
The whole day long,
The tall grass, the bent grass,
The meadow grass growing
Ready for the sickle blade
With its silver song.
A wild wind, a dark wind,
The swift waters taking
Their glad way, their mad way
Toward the beckoning sea,
And on a swaying sycamore
A mocking bird is breaking
His own heart, and my heart,
With piercing melody.
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