THERE BLOOMS NO BUD IN MAY

By Walter de la Mare

There blooms no bud in May

Can for its white compare

With snow at break of day,

On fields forlorn and bare.

For shadow it hath rose,

Azure, and amethyst;

And every air that blows

Dies out in beauteous mist.

It hangs the frozen bough

With flowers on which the night

Wheeling her darkness through

Scatters a starry light.

Fearful of its pale glare

In flocks the starlings rise;

Slide through the frosty air,

And perch with plaintive cries.

Only the inky rook,

Hunched cold in ruffled wings,

Its snowy nest forsook,

Caws of unnumbered Springs.