May in February
When I go a Maying—Maying—
There his wanton wishes go!
Spring, like flowers, to meet me straying....
I must pluck them—will, or no!
I must break each pale stalk slender:
I must lift each flower fair;
For I know they are the tender
Thoughts of love that greet me there....
I will wear them on my bosom....
In the night, when he comes home
He shall see his thoughts in blossom,
Oh Beloved Spring-time,
Come!