TOKENS OF SPRING
By Horace G. Grover
Now breaks the year into its rosy dawn;
And, like pale fugitives in long retreat,
The last of Winter’s cloudy host withdrawn
Stream northward through the blue. The Spring’s young feet
Are deep in primroses; by orchard walls
Drip the white petals from the laden bough;
And, from some burgeoning spray, the throstle calls,
Where tall elms edge the kingdom of the plough,
Full-throated; dainty blossoms star the pool,
And new life teems beneath the tangled weeds.
Day breaks with opal mists, and moist and cool
Her breathings on the world; the river reeds
Advance their supple spears, and fairy gold
Shines in the meadows where the children play.
The great oaks bud, the furze upon the wold
Flames gloriously, and storm-clouds drift away.
A CALENDAR OF SONNETS: APRIL
By Helen Hunt Jackson
No days such honored days as these! While yet
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide
For some fair thing which should forever bide
On earth, her beauteous memory to set
In fitting frame that no age could forget,
Her name in lovely April’s name did hide,
And leave it there, eternally allied
To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget.
And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth,
Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth,
A holier symbol still in seal and sign,
Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine,
When Christ ascended, in the time of birth
Of spring anemones, in Palestine.
In honor of Earth Day
Music: Believe by Immediate Music
WHAT DO ANIMALS DREAM?
By Yahia Lababidi
Do they dream of past lives and unlived dreams
unspeakably human or unimaginably bestial?
Do they struggle to catch in their slumber
what is too slippery for the fingers of day?
Are there subtle nocturnal intimations
to illuminate their undreaming hours?
Are they haunted by specters of regret
do they visit their dead in drowsy gratitude?
Or are they revisited by their crimes
transcribed in tantalizing hieroglyphs?
Do they retrace the outline of their wounds
or dream of transformation, instead?
Do they tug at obstinate knots
inassimilable longings and thwarted strivings?
Are there agitations, upheavals or mutinies
against their perceived selves or fate?
Are they free of strengths and weaknesses peculiar
to horse, deer, bird, goat, snake, lamb or lion?
Are they ever neither animal nor human
but creature and Being?
Do they have holy moments of understanding
deep in the seat of their entity?
Do they experience their existence more fully
relieved of the burden of wakefulness?
Do they suspect, with poets, that all we see or seem
is but a dream within a dream?
Or is it merely a small dying
a little taste of nothingness that gathers in their mouths?
WHEN I HAVE SEEN THE SUN EMERGE
By Emily Dickinson
When I have seen the Sun emerge
From His amazing House —
And leave a Day at every Door
A Deed, in every place —
Without the incident of Fame
Or accident of Noise —
The Earth has seemed to me a Drum,
Pursued of little Boys.