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| Blossom in Berkshire, March 16th, 2014 |
Spring
came early in England this year. All through March, daffodils in their hundreds
waved on every roadside and median, and blossom drifted off the trees onto my
car windshield. But here on the eastern seaboard of the United States we continue
to yearn for the smallest signs of winter being over. The magnolia trees,
usually the first to burst into bloom, are still stark and bare, and the parking
lots are still lined with ridges of dirty snow with more forecast to fall in
the days to come. As April approaches, our longing eyes turn to Spring’s bright
pavilions in the hope that they will be here before much longer.
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To Spring by
William Blake (from Poetical Sketches, 1783)
O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down Through the clear windows of the morning, turn Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring! The hills tell one another, and the listening Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turn’d Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth And let thy holy feet visit our clime! Come o’er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumèd garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee. O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put Thy golden crown upon her languish’d head, Whose modest tresses are bound up for thee. |
