Tag Archive | spring

Spring

SPRING

By Ebenezer Elliott

 

Again the violet of our early days

Drinks beauteous azure from the golden sun,

And kindles into fragrance at his blaze;

The streams, rejoiced that winter’s work is done,

Talk of tomorrow’s cowslips, as they run.

Wild apple, thou art blushing into bloom!

Thy leaves are coming, snowy-blossomed thorn!

Wake, buried lily!  spirit, quit thy tomb!

And thou shade-loving hyacinth, be born!

Then, haste, sweet rose!  sweet woodbine, hymn the morn,

Whose dewdrops shall illume with pearly light

Each grassy blade that thick embattled stands

From sea to sea, while daisies infinite

Uplift in praise their little glowing hands,

O’er every hill that under heaven expands.

Easter is…

Excerpt from the book – Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, and a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year

By Richelle E. Goodrich


Easter is…
Joining in a birdsong,
Eying an early sunrise,
Smelling yellow daffodils,
Unbolting windows and doors,
Skipping through meadows,
Cuddling newborns,
Hoping, believing,
Reviving spent life,
Inhaling fresh air,
Sprinkling seeds along furrows,
Tracking in the mud.
Easter is the soul’s first taste of spring.

Lines Written In Early Spring

LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING

By William Wordsworth

.

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:—
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

Tokens of Spring

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The last of Winter’s cloudy host withdrawn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.