Slow days have passed that make a year, 
Slow hours that make a day, 
Since I could take my first dear love 
And kiss him the old way; 
Yet the green leaves touch me on the cheek, 
Dear Christ, this month of May.

I lie among the tall green grass 
That bends above my head 
And covers up my wasted face 
And folds me in its bed 
Tenderly and lovingly 
Like grass above the dead.

Dim phantoms of an unknown ill 
Float through my tired brain; 
The unformed visions of my life 
Pass by in ghostly train; 
Some pause to touch me on the cheek, 
Some scatter tears like rain.

A shadow falls along the grass 
And lingers at my feet; 
A new face lies between my hands --
Dear Christ, if I could weep 
Tears to shut out the summer leaves 
When this new face I greet.

Still it is but the memory 
Of something I have seen 
In the dreamy summer weather 
When the green leaves came between: 
The shadow of my dear love?s face -- 
So far and strange it seems.

The river ever running down 
Between its grassy bed, 
The voices of a thousand birds 
That clang above my head, 
Shall bring to me a sadder dream 
When this sad dream is dead.

A silence falls upon my heart 
And hushes all its pain. 
I stretch my hands in the long grass 
And fall to sleep again, 
There to lie empty of all love 
Like beaten corn of grain.