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Poem by Amy Levy


On the Wye in May


Now is the perfect moment of the year.
Half naked branches, half a mist of green,
Vivid and delicate the slopes appear;
The cool, soft air is neither fierce nor keen,

And in the temperate sun we feel no fear;
Of all the hours which shall be and have been,
It is the briefest as it is most dear,
It is the dearest as the shortest seen.

O it was best, belov`ed, at the first.--
Our hands met gently, and our meeting sight
Was steady; on our senses scarce had burst
The faint, fresh fragrance of the new delight. . .

I seek that clime, unknown, without a name,
Where first and best and last shall be the same.



Amy Levy


Amy Levy's other poems:
  1. Youth and Love
  2. Between the Showers
  3. Lohengrin
  4. On the Threshold
  5. The Two Terrors


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