So late the rustling shower was heard; <br />Yet now the aëry west is still. <br />The wet leaves flash, and lightly stirred <br />Great drops out of the lilac spill. <br />Peacefully blown, the ashen clouds <br />Uncurtain height on height of sky. <br />Here, as I wander, beauty crowds <br />In freshness keen upon my eye. <br /> <br />Now the shorn turf a glowing green <br />Takes in the massy cedar shade; <br />And through the poplar's trembling screen <br />Fires of the evening blush and fade. <br />Each way my marvelling senses feel <br />Swift odour, light, and luminous hue <br />Of leaf and flower upon them steal: <br />The songs of birds pierce my heart through. <br /> <br />The tulip clear, like yellow flame, <br />Burns upward from the gloomy mould: <br />As though for passion forth they came, <br />Red hearts of peonies unfold: <br />And perfumes tender, sweet, intense <br />Enter me, delicate as a blade. <br />The lilac odour wounds my sense, <br />Of the rich rose I am afraid.<br /><br />Robert Laurence Binyon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/may-evening-2/
