Waiting for May.

Tis weary waiting for May, my dear ;1
’Tis weary waiting for May,2
When never a breath of the warm south wind3
Comes to open a green-leaved spray ;4
Sunshine for some, with its glow and light ;5
And for some, gray skies—but it must be right.6
’Tis weary loving too well, my dear,7
And finding it all in vain ;8
’Tis ever the hand we have clung to most9
Can stab with the sharpest pain.10
And hope dies hard ; but the old wounds stay,11
Heal them, hide them, as best we may.12
My hair was glossy and bright, my dear,13
When I watched and waited for May ;14
’Twas silvered long ere I learned to know15
It never would come my way.16
Yes, I know—the May-blooms wither and fall ;17
To have never had them is worst of all !18
I should like to have had a time, my dear,19
To look back on at close of strife,20
And warm myself in a ghostly sun,21
Which once had colour and life ;22
Oh, never had light such a golden haze,23
As that which shines through the mist of days !24
The shadows are falling fast, my dear ;25
The night is coming soon,26
And I am hastening fast to a land27
That needs nor sun nor moon ;28
And I think beyond the grave I’ll see29
Sunshine and Spring-time kept for me.30