A thought of May

All that long, mad March day, in the dull town,
I had a thought of May — alas, alas!
The dogwood boughs made whiteness up and down;
The daffodils were burning in the grass;
And there were bees astir in lane and street,
And scent of lilacs blowing tall and lush;
While hey, the wind, that pitched its voice so sweet,
It seemed an angel talked behind each bush!
The west grew very golden, roofs turned black.
I saw one star above the gables bare.
The door flew open. Love, you had come back.
I held my arms; you found the old way there.
In its old place you laid your yellow head,
And at your kiss the mad March weather fled!