Begin Afresh, Afresh, Afresh

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh."

- Philip Larkin, The Trees

Memento Mori

Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May, John William Waterhouse

Get up, get up for shame, the Blooming Morne

Upon her wings presents the god unshorne.

                     See how Aurora throwes her faire

                     Fresh-quilted colours through the aire:

                     Get up, sweet-Slug-a-bed, and see

                     The Dew-bespangling Herbe and Tree.

Each Flower has wept, and bow'd toward the East,

Above an houre since; yet you not drest,

                     Nay! not so much as out of bed?

                     When all the Birds have Mattens seyd,

                     And sung their thankful Hymnes: 'tis sin,

                     Nay, profanation to keep in,

When as a thousand Virgins on this day,

Spring, sooner than the Lark, to fetch in May.

Rise; and put on your Foliage, and be seene

To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and greene;

                     And sweet as Flora. Take no care

                     For Jewels for your Gowne, or Haire:

                     Feare not; the leaves will strew

                     Gemms in abundance upon you:

Besides, the childhood of the Day has kept,

Against you come, some Orient Pearls unwept:

                     Come, and receive them while the light

                     Hangs on the Dew-locks of the night:

                     And Titan on the Eastern hill

                     Retires himselfe, or else stands still

Till you come forth. Wash, dresse, be briefe in praying:

Few Beads are best, when once we goe a Maying.

Come, my Corinna, come; and comming, marke

How each field turns a street; each street a Parke

                     Made green, and trimm'd with trees: see how

                     Devotion gives each House a Bough,

                     Or Branch: Each Porch, each doore, ere this,

                     An Arke a Tabernacle is

Made up of white-thorn neatly enterwove;

As if here were those cooler shades of love.

                     Can such delights be in the street,

                     And open fields, and we not see't?

                     Come, we'll abroad; and let's obay

                     The Proclamation made for May:

And sin no more, as we have done, by staying;

But my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying.

There's not a budding Boy, or Girle, this day,

But is got up, and gone to bring in May.

                     A deale of Youth, ere this, is come

                     Back, and with White-thorn laden home.

                     Some have dispatcht their Cakes and Creame,

                     Before that we have left to dreame:

And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted Troth,

And chose their Priest, ere we can cast off sloth:

                     Many a green-gown has been given;

                     Many a kisse, both odde and even:

                     Many a glance too has been sent

                     From out the eye, Loves Firmament:

Many a jest told of the Keyes betraying

This night, and Locks pickt, yet w'are not a Maying.

Come, let us goe, while we are in our prime;

And take the harmlesse follie of the time.

                     We shall grow old apace, and die

                     Before we know our liberty.

                     Our life is short; and our dayes run

                     As fast away as do's the Sunne:

And as a vapour, or a drop of raine

Once lost, can ne'r be found againe:

                     So when or you or I are made

                     A fable, song, or fleeting shade;

                     All love, all liking, all delight

                     Lies drown'd with us in endlesse night.

Then while time serves, and we are but decaying;

Come, my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying.

~Robert Herrick (1591-1674), Corinna's Going a Maying

   I know, it's a little bit of a longer poem, but it's really quite lovely, and certainly worth the read.  The speaker has gone to fetch Corinna out of bed-- it's spring!  It's May!  Our life is short and our days run as fast away as does the sun.

   I am, of course, posting this because I celebrate May 1st each year as my crowning as May Queen (blogged here and here).  It's a tradition I've honored since I was about sixteen, and all these years later, it's still a day that holds great significance for me.

   I hope you have a lovely May Day.  Take Herrick's advice-- get out of bed, dress quickly, let nature be your adornment, love, live, be merry.  It's a lovely day and we are blessed to be alive.  Carpe Diem.

May Queen

Years ago, when I was a lass of 16 or so, a boy crowned me May Queen.  For whatever reason, that idea sat well with my soul, and ever since, I have celebrated May 1st as the day of my crowning.  Silly, I know, but indulge me, won't you?  Amazingly, there are always people who do cater to my silly fantasies, like sweet Grant and Beth who gave me a crown one year, and my own dear mother who commemorates it each year with flowers.  In 2005, my then boyfriend set about collecting letters from many of my friends and assembled them into a book.  It was incredibly thoughtful and sweet and more than a girl could ask for.  It remains one of my most cherished possessions to this day.  All of the illustrations are credited to Stephen Halker.  The letters are those from whom I shall always love.


Happy May Day to you.  I hope that your life is as richly blessed as my own has been.  I hope that you have friends who care for you and indulge you in the silliest of ideas.  I hope that when you see flowers that they perk up your heart, because if Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?