The opaline, the plentiful and strong,
Yet beautiful as is the rose in June,
* * * * *
Purger of earth, and medicine of men;
Creating a sweet climate by my breath,
Washing out harms and griefs from memory,
And, in my mathematic ebb and flow,
Giving a hint of that which changes not.
Splendid imagery and rich coloring mark the fine passages in ‘May-Day’ describing the advance of summer:—
As poured the flood of the ancient sea