lördag 24 april 2010

...when life's alive in everything

The goutweed (Aegopodium podagraria) is coming in full force. I wish the Spring was as eager to join us!
A couple of weeks ago we had some lovely afternoons in the sun — but since then it has been too cold, even for us fresh-air-fanatics, to spend any time on the veranda.
Today started out gorgeous, but cold — the nights are still quite cold, usually under the freezing point.


Spring
Frost-locked all the winter,
Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,
What shall make their sap ascend
That they may put forth shoots?
Tips of tender green,
Leaf, or blade, or sheath;
Telling of the hidden life
That breaks forth underneath,
Life nursed in its grave by Death.
.
Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly,
Drips the soaking rain,
By fits looks down the waking sun:
Young grass springs on the plain;
Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees;
Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits,
Swollen with sap put forth their shoots;
Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane;
Birds sing and pair again.
.
There is no time like Spring,
When life's alive in everything,
Before new nestlings sing,
Before cleft swallows speed their journey back
Along the trackless track---
God guides their wing,
He spreads their table that they nothing lack,---
Before the daisy grows a common flower,
Before the sun has power
To scorch the world up in his noontide hour.
.
There is no time like Spring,
Like Spring that passes by;
There is no life like Spring-life born to die,---
Piercing the sod,
Clothing the uncouth clod,
Hatched in the nest,
Fledged on the windy bough,
Strong on the wing:
There is no time like Spring that passes by,
Now newly born, and now
Hastening to die.
............ Christina Rossetti

2 kommentarer:

  1. Ljuvligt språk.
    Nyss född, skyndar sig att dö-våren är intensiv.Så vackert Christina Rosetti skriver.
    Hösten är långsammare och på det sättet skönare för sinnet, mitt sinne; det går så oerhört snabbt undan just nu.
    Karin

    SvaraRadera
  2. Christina R hör till mina favoriter. Många tycker att hon är morbid - förutom allt annat man tycker om kvinnliga skalder som inte var som alla andra. Och en högst ovanlig poetisk gåva hade hon. Hennes rytm är fantastisk.
    Men som sagt, hur mycket jag än uppskattar våren - så är jag höstmänniska.
    Margaretha

    SvaraRadera