Spring 2

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.

extract from Gerard Manley Hopkins' poem Spring

(I'm stopping it there.  I don't want to anticipate the end of spring today.  I just want to enjoy it.)