Friday, March 20, 2015


Tis true... Spring has officially arrived. Here in these parts, there are still patchings of snow and ice upon the ground, the buds on the trees remain unswollen, the wind is still sharp and icy... but the sun is warm upon the back. Robins and bluebirds are returning to the fields, the maple trees are freely giving their lifeblood sap, the chickadee's wintersong is changing to the shorter and sweeter "dee deee". Owls are hooting close in the evenings, coyotes answer in similar refrain. Mud is taking the place of the snow as the frost oozes out of the ground. The chickens are laying, the roosters, ducks and geese are testier. Soon, the pussywillows will give birth to their fuzzy new catkins, the spring peepers will chirp out from their damp quarters, the geese will cry out daily in their joy on returning home to their northern places. We will look for signs of the first snowdrops and wait for the blossoms to burst out from the forsythia and quince. Yes indeed, spring has sprung!


I wandered lonely as a cloud

that floats on high o'er vales and hills,
when all at once I saw a crowd,
a host of golden daffodils,
beside the lake, beneath the trees,
fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
~William Wordsworth

When Spring Goes By

The winds that on the uplands softly lie,

grow keener where the ice is lingering still
where the first robin on the sheltered hill
pipes blithely to the tune "When Spring goes by".
Here him again, "Spring! Spring!" he seems to cry,
haunting the fall of the flute-throated rill
that keeps a gentle, constant, silver thrill,
while he is restless in his ecstacy.

Ah! The soft budding of the virginal woods,

of the frail fruit trees by the vanishing lakes.
There's the new moon where the clear sunset floods,
a trace of dew upon the rose-leaf sky.
And hark! What rapture the glad robin wakes...
"When Spring goes by... Spring! Spring!
When Spring goes by!"
~Duncan Campbell Scott

March winds and April showers bring forth April flowers

The Spring

Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost

her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
candies the grass, or casts an icy cream
upon the silver lake or crystal stream.
But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth
and makes it tender... gives a sacred birth
to the dead swallow; wakes in the hollow tree
the drowsy cuckoo and the humble-bee.
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
in triumph to the world the youthful Spring.
The valleys, hills and woods in rich array
welcome the coming of the long'd- for May.
Now all things smile, only my love doth lour;
nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power
to melt the marble ice, which still doth hold
her heart congealed, and makes her pity cold.
The ox, which lately did for shelter fly
into the stall; doth now securely lie
in open fields; and love no more is made
by the fireside, but in the cooler shade
Amyntas now doth with his Chloris sleep
under a sycamore, and all things keep
time with the season; only she doth carry
June in her eyes; in her heart January
~Thomas Carew


The air is like a butterfly with frail blue wings

The happy earth looks at the sky and sings.
~Joyce Kilmer

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold... when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.

~Charles Dickens

No comments:

Post a Comment