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April Is The Cruellest Month...
15 Answers
breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
What does the long term weather forecast say?
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
What does the long term weather forecast say?
Answers
Best Answer
No best answer has yet been selected by sandyRoe. Once a best answer has been selected, it will be shown here.
For more on marking an answer as the "Best Answer", please visit our FAQ.This is my perennial one, Sandy.
Some things just stick in your mind.
April Rise
If ever I saw blessing in the air
I see it now in this still early day
Where lemon-green the vaporous morning drips
Wet sunlight on the powder of my eye.
Blown bubble-film of blue, the sky wraps round
Weeds of warm light whose every root and rod
Splutters with soapy green, and all the world
Sweats with the bead of summer in its bud.
If ever I heard blessing it is there
Where birds in trees that shoals and shadows are
Splash with their hidden wings and drops of sound
Break on my ears their crests of throbbing air.
Pure in the haze the emerald sun dilates,
The lips of sparrows milk the mossy stones,
While white as water by the lake a girl
Swims her green hand among the gathered swans.
Now, as the almond burns its smoking wick,
Dropping small flames to light the candled grass;
Now, as my low blood scales its second chance,
If ever world were blessed, now it is.
Laurie Lee
Some things just stick in your mind.
April Rise
If ever I saw blessing in the air
I see it now in this still early day
Where lemon-green the vaporous morning drips
Wet sunlight on the powder of my eye.
Blown bubble-film of blue, the sky wraps round
Weeds of warm light whose every root and rod
Splutters with soapy green, and all the world
Sweats with the bead of summer in its bud.
If ever I heard blessing it is there
Where birds in trees that shoals and shadows are
Splash with their hidden wings and drops of sound
Break on my ears their crests of throbbing air.
Pure in the haze the emerald sun dilates,
The lips of sparrows milk the mossy stones,
While white as water by the lake a girl
Swims her green hand among the gathered swans.
Now, as the almond burns its smoking wick,
Dropping small flames to light the candled grass;
Now, as my low blood scales its second chance,
If ever world were blessed, now it is.
Laurie Lee
This is one of my favourite poems - not entirely related to spring... but I enjoy it:
http:// www.poe tryfoun dation. org/poe trymaga zine/po em/2465 02
You can listen to the poet read it above :)
It's kind of about finding new life - which is a spring thing, right?
http://
You can listen to the poet read it above :)
It's kind of about finding new life - which is a spring thing, right?