Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SPRING HAS COME, by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: The sunbeams, lost for half a year Last Line: To dream above, to sleep below! Subject(s): Spring | ||||||||
THE sunbeams, lost for half a year, Slant through my pane their morning rays; For dry northwesters cold and clear, The east blows in its thin blue haze. And first the snowdrop's bells are seen, Then close against the sheltering wall The tulip's horn of dusky green, The peony's dark unfolding ball. The golden-chaliced crocus burns; The long narcissus-blades appear; The cone-beaked hyacinth returns To light her blue-flamed chandelier. The willow's whistling lashes, wrung By the wild winds of gusty March, With sallow leaflets lightly strung, Are swaying by the tufted larch. The elms have robed their slender spray With full-blown flower and embryo leaf; Wide o'er the clasping arch of day Soars like a cloud their hoary chief. See the proud tulip's flaunting cup, That flames in glory for an hour, -- Behold it withering, -- then look up, -- How meek the forest monarch's flower! When wake the violets, Winter dies; When sprout the elm-buds, Spring is near; When lilacs blossom, Summer cries, "Bud, little roses! Spring is here!" The windows blush with fresh bouquets, Cut with their Maydew on the lips; The radish all its bloom displays, Pink as Aurora's finger-tips. Nor less the flood of light that showers On beauty's changed corolla-shades, -- The walks are gay as bridal bowers With rows of many-petalled maids. The scarlet shell-fish click and clash In the blue barrow where they slide; The horseman, proud of streak and splash, Creeps homeward from his morning ride. Here comes the dealer's awkward string, With neck in rope and tail in knot, -- Rough colts, with careless country-swing, In lazy walk or slouching trot. Wild filly from the mountain-side, Doomed to the close and chafing thills, Lend me thy long, untiring stride To seek with thee thy western hills! I hear the whispering voice of Spring, The thrush's trill, the robin's cry, Like some poor bird with prisoned wing That sits and sings, but longs to fly. Oh for one spot of living green, -- One little spot where leaves can grow, -- To love unblamed, to walk unseen, To dream above, to sleep below! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPRING LEMONADE by TONY HOAGLAND A SPRING SONG by LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN SPRING'S RETURN by GEORGE LAWRENCE ANDREWS ODE TO SPRING by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD ODE TO SPRING by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD SPRING FLOODS by MAURICE BARING SPRING IN WINTER by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES SPRING ON THE PRAIRIE by HERBERT BATES THE FARMER'S BOY: SPRING by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY [DECEMBER 16, 1773] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES |
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