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    Morning over the bay

    Six Poems for Spring

    Various Poets

    April 30, 2013
    4 Comments
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    • Patricia Velez

      What a beautiful collection of poems. This has been a truly abundant and beautiful Spring. Thanks for sharing these.

    • Joyce Cox

      My very favorite poem of all time, I learned it at school, I wonder if my friends from those days, remember! A Host of golden Daffodils ?

    • Terry

      The earth, our Lord's creation speaking to us of Him. Come & see, come & taste, come & be; take a moment, a minute & sit with me. Yes the power of the word to our heart is often overlooked but power they hold just the same. This handful of poems more powerful than most.

    • Veronica

      Oh, how we forget the pleasures we get from poetry. In these times, we should be reading more of it! So should children. We are forgetting these simple pleasures. Thank you for reminding me and elevating my heart tonight.

    A Prayer in Spring

    Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
    And give us not to think so far away
    As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
    All simply in the springing of the year.

    Oh. give us pleasure in the orchard white,
    Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
    And make us happy in the happy bees,
    That swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

    And make us happy in the darting bird
    That suddenly above the bees is heard;
    The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
    And off a blossom in mid-air stands still.

    For this is love, and nothing else is love,
    The which it is reserved for God above
    To sanctify to what ends He will,
    But which it only needs that we fulfill.

    Robert Frost

     

    when faces called flowers float out of the ground
    and breathing is wishing and wishing is having –
    but keeping is downward and doubting and never
    – it’s april(yes, april;my darling)it’s spring!
    yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly
    yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be
    (yes the mountains are dancing together)

    when every leaf opens without any sound
    and wishing is having and having is giving –
    but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense
    – alive:we’re alive, dear: it’s(kiss me now)spring!
    now the pretty birds hover so she and so he
    now the little fish quiver so you and so i
    (now the mountains are dancing,the mountains)

    when more than was lost has been found has been found
    and having is giving and giving is living –
    but keeping is darkness and winter and cringing
    – it’s spring(all our night becomes day)o,it’s spring!
    all the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky
    all the little fish climb through the mind of the sea
    (all the mountains are dancing;are dancing)

    ee cummings

     

    The Rhodora

    On being asked, whence is the flower?

    In May, when sea winds pierced our solitudes,
    I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
    Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
    To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
    The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
    Made the black water with their beauty gay;
    Here might the redbird come, his plumes to cool,
    And court the flower that cheapens his array.
    Rhodora! If the sages ask thee why
    This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
    Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
    Then beauty is its own excuse for Being:
    Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!
    I never thought to ask, I never knew:
    But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
    The self-same Power that brought me there,
    brought you.

    Ralph Waldo Emerson

     

    Sonnet 49

    Look at the grass, sucked by the seed from dust,
    Whose blood is the spring rain, whose food the sun,
    Whose life the scythe takes ere the sorrels rust,
    Whose stalk is chaff before the winter’s done.
    Even the grass its happy moment has
    In May, when glistening buttercups make gold;
    The exulting millions of the meadow-grass
    Give out a green thanksgiving from the mould.
    Even the blade that has not even a blossom
    Creates a mind, its joy’s persistent soul
    Is a warm spirit on the old earth’s bosom
    When April’s fire has dwindled to a coal;
    The spirit of the grasses’ joy makes fair
    The winter fields when even the wind goes bare.

    John Masefield

     

    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.

    Gerard Manley Hopkins

     

    The Daffodils

    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.

    Continuous as the stars that shine
    And twinkle in the milky way,
    They stretched in never-ending line
    Along the margin of a bay:
    Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
    Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

    The waves beside them danced; but they
    Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;
    A poet could not but be gay,
    In such a jocund company;
    I gazed – and gazed – but little thought
    What wealth the show to me had brought:

    For oft, when on my couch I lie
    In vacant or in pensive mood,
    They flash upon that inward eye
    Which is the bliss of solitude;
    And then my heart with pleasure fills,
    And dances with the daffodils.

    William Wordsworth

    a bouquet of purple and blue spring flowers
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