Poet name


Nothing is so beautiful as spring—   
  When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;   
  Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush   
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring   
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;   
  The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush   
  The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush   
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.        
What is all this juice and all this joy?   
  A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning   
In Eden garden.—Have, get, before it cloy,   
  Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,   
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,   
  Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning. 

This entry was posted on Friday, September 22nd, 2017 at 10:26 am. Both comments and pings are currently closed.