THE fragrant air is full of down, <br />Of floating, fleecy things <br />From some forgotten fairy town <br />Where all the folk wear wings. <br />Or else the snowflakes, soft arrayed <br />In dainty suits of lace, <br />Have ventured back in masquerade, <br />Spring's festival to grace. <br />Or these, perchance, are fleets of fluff, <br />Laden with rainbow seeds, <br />That count their cargo rich enough <br />Though all its wealth be weeds. <br />Or come they from the golden trees, <br />Where dancing blossoms were, <br />That now are drifting on the breeze, <br />Sweet ghosts of gossamer?<br /><br />Katharine Lee Bates<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-end-of-may-3/
