In the greenest growth of the Maytime,
⁠I rode where the woods were wet,
Between the dawn and the daytime;
⁠The spring was glad that we met.

There was something the season wanted,
⁠Though the ways and the woods smelt sweet;
The breath at your lips that panted,
⁠The pulse of the grass at your feet.

You came, and the sun came after,
⁠And the green grew golden above;
And the flag-flowers lightened with laughter,
⁠And the meadow-sweet shook with love.

Your feet in the full-grown grasses
⁠Moved soft as a weak wind blows;
You passed me as April passes,
⁠With face made out of a rose.