Shall I go with you?
Take my hand, I will say,
to the streets of the Festival;
for I would like to show you:
the colors of the midsummer wind,
and the breath of the eastern breeze,
the special magnificence of Godly air!
I implore to you:

Please, will you not take my hand?
Take it, and you will see:
small-wingèd things fluttering by dandelions,
in tandem with the cicada’s droning amber rhythm
Great big bees dancing gracefully
Too, pretty candleflame-haired girls
dancing around the garden weed pole
and spinning garlands of Spring from clovers!

Your melancholy is incongruous, I say,
with the merriment of the sun’s deliverance
of that Holy message, that the birds have emerg’d!
Will you not frolic with me here?
amongst the twitterings of the wheatfields,
the simple-beating of the earth’s heart,
the hunger of the Lenten season lost upon us?

I will see to it: that you will take my hand.
For I would be a foolish man
to partake in such pleasures without you!
To reap the joys of my good Spring,
without your prettiness beside me, boy,
Take it, and you will see:
twines threaded in the pulse of bee-loud meadows,
Bees that are lumbering as bishops,
crowned in gold and grave in purpose
that loop the girls’ laughter through the thistle-skein
breath and bloom plaited from their hairs!
And too shall I braid yours, with the subtlest of touch,
with yellow and pink and orange flowers
and sunsetting skies.

You do not see even the lamb forgets
the Desert-lean of the Son,
but I will show you; 
	if you are to take my hand
		with that red ribbon of yours.