The Judgement of the May

COME to the judgement, golden threads

upon golden hair in rich array;

Many a chestnut shakes its heads,

Many a lupine at this day,

Many a white rose in our beds

Waits the judgement of the May.

Oh, like white roses, great white queen,

Come to the judgement, come to-day.

The white stars on thy robes of green

Are like white roses on trees in May:

By me thy stars and flowers are seen,

But now thou seemest far away.

Richard Watson Dixon

Song: The feathers of the Willow

THE feathers of the willow

Are half of them grown yellow

Above the swelling stream;

And ragged are the bushes,

And rusty now the rushes,

And wild the clouded gleam.

The thistle now is older,

His stalk begins to moulder,

His head is white as snow;

The branches all are barer,

The linnet's song is rarer,

The robin pipeth now.

Richard Watson Dixon