Sunday, April 21, 2019

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.)


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