Though many subjects merit my attention.
To take one instance only, there is May
(The month) at present in her last declension.
Lord, what a dance she leads us on her May-toes,
And spoils the beans and ruins the potatoes.
The gloomy gardener stands and counts the cost,
His once proud thoughts to sheer depression turning.
Darkly he marks the intempestive frost,
Though the laburnum still keeps on laburning,
And though the rose renews her ancient story