The Queen of May

THE laughing garlanded May-time is here ;
The glad laburnum whispers at the gate :
“ She comes! She comes ! I hear her step draw near, —
Our Queen of Beauty, Arbitress of Fate ! ”
The lilacs look at her — " She is more fair
Than the white moon, more proud than the strong sun ;
Let him who seeks her royal grace beware, —
To woo her lightly were to be undone.”
The one sweet rose, that plays the May is June,
Blooms for her ; and for her a mateless bird
Thrills the soft dusk with his entrancing tune,
Content if by her only he is heard.
A curious star climbs the far heaven to see
What She it is for whom the waiting night,
To music set, trembles in melody ;
Then, by her beauty dazzled, flees from sight.
And I—what am I that my voice should reach
The gracious ear to which it would aspire ?
She will not heed my faltering poor speech ;
I have no spell to win what all desire.
Yet will I serve my stately Queen of May ;
Yet will I hope, till Hope itself be spent.
Better to strive, though steep and long the way,
Than on some weaker heart to sink content.
Louise Chandler Moulton.