SPRING is God's season; may you see His Spring Somewhere, the larch and ash buds burgeoning, Round catkin tassels and the blossomed spine Of blackthorn, and the golden celandine, And little rainwashed violet leaves unfurled To deck young April in another world. We cannot know how much a dead man hears, What awful music of the distant spheres, But you may linger still, you may not be Too far from us to share the ecstasy Of all the larks that nest upon our hills, Or miss the flowering of the daffodils. Since if, as some folks say, ourselves do make Our Heaven, yours will hold, for old times' sake, The farms and orchards that you left behind, Steep lichened roofs, and rutted lanes that wind Through green lush meadows up from Wealden towns To the bare beauty of our Sussex Downs. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CITIES OF THE PLAIN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE ANNIVERSARY [ANNIVERSARIE] by JOHN DONNE A SHORT SONG OF CONGRATULATION by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) IN THIS AGE OF HARD TRYING, NONCHALANCE IS GOOD AND by MARIANNE MOORE THE REMEDY WORSE THAN THE DISEASE by MATTHEW PRIOR |