And a pasture for horses blossoms With the flowers of spring, and breezes Are flowing here like honey: Come to me here ,. Here, Cyprian, delicately taking Nectar in golden cups Mixed with a festive joy, And pour. The Wind is sewing with needles of rain. With shining needles of rain It stitches into the thin Cloth of earth. In, In, in, in. Oh, the wind has often sewed with me. One, two, three. Spring must have fine things To wear like other springs. Spring Snow by Arthur Sze A spring snow coincides with plum blossoms Springing by Marie Ponsot In a skiff on a sunrisen lake we are watchers Morning News by Marilyn Hacker Spring wafts up the smell of bus exhaust, of bread Diary [Surface] by Rachel Zucker Spring is not so very promising as it is the thing Another Attempt at Rescue by M.
Smoker And to think I had just paid a cousin twenty dollars to shovel the walk If a Wilderness by Carl Phillips Then spring came National Poetry Month. Materials for Teachers Teach This Poem. Poems for Kids. The speaker of the poem, at twenty years of age, reflects that he has seen twenty springs come and go, and will probably only see fifty more. So, best make the most of it. Quite right, too. Few poets could use assonance and alliteration as vibrantly as Hopkins.
Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, The flocks are whiter down the vale, And milkier every milky sail On winding stream or distant sea;. Where now the seamew pipes, or dives In yonder greening gleam, and fly The happy birds, that change their sky To build and brood; that live their lives.
One of the best poems in a great long poetic sequence. Follow the link above to read the poem in full. William Shakespeare, Sonnet As a consequence, spring seemed like a winter to him. This poem describes the way life begins all over again in the spring, and does so through the use of some beautifully vivid images.
He has never spoken. I read to their presences, absences, to the big, dumb labouring man as he rocks. He is suddenly standing, silently, huge and mild, but I feel afraid. The nurses are frozen, alert; the patients seem to listen. He is hoarse but word-perfect. Outside the daffodils are still as wax, a thousand, ten thousand, their syllables unspoken, their creams and yellows still. Forty years ago, in a Valleys school, the class recited poetry by rote. Since the dumbness of misery fell he has remembered there was a music of speech and that once he had something to say.
A thrush sings and the daffodils are flame. From Gillian Clarke's Selected Poems. Selected Poems brings together the best of her poetry over the past four decades in a single volume, addressing themes including nature, womanhood, art, music, Welsh history, and perhaps her greatest inspiration: the Welsh landscape and its human stories. I watched a blackbird on a budding sycamore One Easter Day, when sap was stirring twigs to the core; I saw his tongue, and crocus-coloured bill Parting and closing as he turned his trill; Then he flew down, seized on a stem of hay, And upped to where his building scheme was under way, As if so sure a nest was never shaped on spray.
If these spring poems have inspired you to get back to nature, here are some recommendations for books set in the great outdoors:.
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