Spring Song by Robert Louis Stevenson.

THE air was full of sun and birds,
The fresh air sparkled clearly.
Remembrance wakened in my heart
And I knew I loved her dearly.

The fallows and the leafless trees
And all my spirit tingled.
My earliest thought of love, and Spring's
First puff of perfume mingled.

In my still heart the thoughts awoke,
Came lone by lone together -
Say, birds and Sun and Spring, is Love
A mere affair of weather.

Original Post
I have a Bird in spring by Emily Dickinson.

I have a Bird in spring
Which for myself doth sing --
The spring decoys.
And as the summer nears --
And as the Rose appears,
Robin is gone.

Yet do I not repine
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown --
Learneth beyond the sea
Melody new for me
And will return.

Fast is a safer hand
Held in a truer Land
Are mine --
And though they now depart,
Tell I my doubting heart
They're thine.

In a serener Bright,
In a more golden light
I see
Each little doubt and fear,
Each little discord here
Removed.

Then will I not repine,
Knowing that Bird of mine
Though flown
Shall in a distant tree
Bright melody for me
Return.

A Light exists in Spring by Emily Dickinson.

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period --
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay --

A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.

Thank you Vicky.
We did not have a topic about classic spring poetry, so this is very appropriate, since spring is trily here.


Spring comes on the World -- by Emily Dickinson


Spring comes on the World --
I sight the Aprils --
Hueless to me until thou come
As, till the Bee
Blossoms stand negative,
Touched to Conditions
By a Hum.

Lines Written In Early Spring.
by William Wordsworth.

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:--
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

Thank you girls.
I used to write and study classic poetry, and I remember this little poem by Emily Dickinson,

A little Madness in the Spring
Is wholesome even for the King,
But God be with the Clown --
Who ponders this tremendous scene --
This whole Experiment of Green --
As if it were his own!
In our gathering one candle lights hundreds,
we will light your path and give you courage
so you will open like a flower
and join in our joyous laughter.
Plant the seed of truth and watch it grow
when it spreads its branches
come with us and sit under the blossoms.
Your eyes will open to the secret of Truth.

Rumi
************

Let us fall in love again
and scatter gold dust all over the world.
Let us become a new spring
and feel the breeze drift in the heavens' scent.
Let us dress the earth in green,
and like the sap of a young tree.
Let the grace from within sustain us.
Let us carve gems out of our stony hearts
and let them light our path to Love.
The glance of Love is crystal clear
and we are blessed by its light.

~Rumi
******

In the scenery of spring,
nothing is better, nothing worse;
The flowering branches are
of themselves, some short, some long.
- Zen anon.





The weather at last is turning mild
Swinging my staff
I set off for a spring outing
Streams burble in the valleys and gorges
Mountains and forests ring
with the trilling of birds
I may go walking with a monk
Stop at a friend's and rest a while
There's nothing like this life of mine
A boat that's slipped its moorings
bobbing on the waves.
- Ryokan
Thank you yoko for all your input.
You have been busy.

Spring Poem ~ Rumi

The Music We Are



Did you hear that winter’s over? The basil
and the carnations cannot control their

laughter. The nightingale, back from his
wandering, has been made singing master

over the birds. The trees reach out their
congratulations. The soul goes dancing

through the king’s doorway. Anemones blush
because they have seen the rose naked.

Spring, the only fair judge, walks in the
courtroom, and several December thieves steal

away, Last year’s miracles will soon be
forgotten. New creatures whirl in from non-

existence, galaxies scattered around their
feet. Have you met them? Do you hear the

bud of Jesus crooning in the cradle? A single
narcissus flower has been appointed Inspector

of Kingdoms. A feast is set. Listen: the
wind is pouring wine! Love used to hide

inside images: no more! The orchard hangs
out its lanterns. The dead come stumbling by

in shrouds. Nothing can stay bound or be
imprisoned. You say, “End this poem here,

and wait for what’s next.” I will. Poems
are rough notations for the music we are.


One Day In Spring....

One day in spring, a woman came
In my lonely woods,
In the lovely form of the Beloved.
Came, to give to my songs, melodies,
To give to my dreams, sweetness.
Suddenly a wild wave
Broke over my heart's shores
And drowned all language.
To my lips no name came,
She stood beneath the tree, turned,
Glanced at my face, made sad with pain,
And with quick steps, came and sat by me.
Taking my hands in hers, she said:
'You do not know me, nor I you—
I wonder how this could be?'
I said:
'We two shall build, a bridge for ever
Between two beings, each to the other unknown,
This eager wonder is at the heart of things.'

The cry that is in my heart is also the cry of her heart;
The thread with which she binds me binds her too.
Her have I sought everywhere,
Her have I worshipped within me,
Hidden in that worship she has sought me too.
Crossing the wide oceans, she came to steal my heart.
She forgot to return, having lost her own.
Her own charms play traitor to her,
She spreads her net, knowing not
Whether she will catch or be caught.

Rabindranath Tagore
***********************

Spring Blossom


Kabir




Spring blossoms — the cherry blossom, plum blossom, peach blossom — suddenly appear on seemingly dead branches, heralds of the coming spring. They represent the gentle, almost unnoticed flowering of enlightenment, the surprisingly quiet recognition of the Buddha-mind. These spring blossoms appear only after the hard, lonely winter of meditation and spiritual practice, yet when they peek forth, their appearance is natural, effortless. Spring blossoms are the new life that emerges from the dead branches of the little self, they simply emerge when the limited ego has passed through its seasons and withered away.

Alternately, spring blossoms can represent the fleeting nature of life. They appear brightly, seemingly out of nothing from bare branches, but all too briefly... then they are gone. They can represent the Buddhist insight that all things are fleeting and change, that everything like the seasons themselves keep changing, where the only thing of value is the cultivation of awareness in order to appreciate this very moment.

Sometimes the sheer beauty of color and perfume Spring flowers express transports us to an awareness of the sacred.

Spring and all its flowers
by Hafiz
(1320 - 1389) Timeline

English version by
Homayun Taba & Marguerite Theophil


Spring and all its flowers
now joyously break their vow of silence.
It is time for celebration, not for lying low;
You too - weed out those roots of sadness from your heart.

The Sabaa wind arrives;
and in deep resonance, the flower
passionately rips open its garments,
thrusting itself from itself.

The Way of Truth, learn from the clarity of water,
Learn freedom from the spreading grass.

Pay close attention to the artistry of the Sabaa wind,
that wafts in pollen from afar,
And ripples the beautiful tresses
of the fields of hyacinth flowers.

From the privacy of the harem, the virgin bud slips out,
revealing herself under the morning star,
branding your heart and your faith
with beauty.

And frenzied bulbul flies madly out of the House of Sadness
to unite with the flowers;
its love-crazed cry like a thousand-trumpet blast.

Hafez says, and the experienced old ones concur:

All you really need
is to tell those Stories
of the Fair Ones and the Goblet of Wine.

All things shall melt and turn into songs when Spring comes. Even the stars, the vast snowflakes that fall slowly upon the larger fields, shall melt into singing streams. When the sun of His face shall arise above the wider horizon, then what frozen symmetry would not turn into liquid melody?

Kahlil Gibran

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A Prayer in Spring


Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.

Robert Frost (1915)

...Today
amid the scent
of new mango blossoms,

amid the rustling notes
of fresh stems bursting forth,

under the nectar- sprinkled moon rays
in the sky
in tearful delight,

by whos touch am I delighted
in this fragrant-laden agitated breeze?

Today spring is awake at the door,
in your veiled, shy life
please don't frustrate her.

Open up the petals of your heart today...

Rabindranath Tagore
**********************

A Spring Song

Old Mother Earth woke up from her sleep,
and found she was cold and bare;
the winter was over, the spring was near,
and she had not a dress to wear.
"Alas!" she sighed, with great dismay.
"oh, where shall I get my clothes?
There's not a place to buy a suit,
and a dressmaker no one knows."

"I'll make you a dress," said the spring grass,
just looking above the ground,
"a dress of green of the lovliest sheen,
to cover you all around."
"And we," said the dandelions gay,
"will dot it with yellow bright."
"I'll make it a fringe," said forget-me -not,
"of blue, very soft and light."

"We'll embroider the front," said the violets,
"with a lovely purple hue!"
"And we," said the roses, "will make you a crown
of red , jeweled over the dew."
"And we'll be your gems," said the voice from the shade,
where the ladies' eardrops live-
"orange is the color for any queen
and the best we have to give."

Old Mother Earth was thankful and glad,
as she put on her dress so gay;
and that is the reason, my little ones,
she is looking so lovely today.

Unknown poet

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Vicky, you have made your images blend in with the words of the poem. This is wonderful!


Spring

By William Shakespeare 1564–1616

When daisies pied and violets blue
And lady-smocks all silver-white
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo: Oh word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!


When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are plowmen’s clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo: Oh word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

For winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the season of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837–1909)
Atalanta in Calydon (1865)

And he looked upon that one, and there was in his voice a sound like a star singing, and he said: "In your waking dream, when you are hushed and listening to your deeper self, your thoughts, like snowflakes, fall and flutter and garment all the sounds of your spaces with white silence.
'And what are weaking dreams but clouds that bud and blossom on the sky-tree of your heart? And what are your thoughts but the petals which the winds of your heart scatter upon the hills and its fields....

Kahlil Gibran

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Where Spring, the lord of the seasons, reigneth, there the Unstruck Music sounds of itself, there the streams of light flow in all directions;
Few are the men who can cross to that shore!
There, where millions of Krishnas stand with hands folded,
Where millions of Vishnus bow their heads,
Where millions of Brahmas are reading the Vedas,
Where millions of Shivas are lost in contemplation.
Where millions of Indras dwell in the sky,
Where the demi-gods and the munis are outnumbered,
Where millions of Saraswatis, Goddess of Music, play on the vina-
There is my Lord self-revealed; and
the scent of sandal and flowers dwells in those deeps.

Songs of Kabir,
translated by Rabindranath Tagore


One Day in Spring...

One day in spring, a woman came In my lonely woods, In the lovely form of the Beloved. Came, to give to my songs, melodies, To give to my dreams, sweetness. Suddenly a wild wave Broke over my heart's shores And drowned all language. To my lips no name came, She stood beneath the tree, turned, Glanced at my face, made sad with pain, And with quick steps, came and sat by me. Taking my hands in hers, she said: 'You do not know me, nor I you-- I wonder how this could be?' I said: 'We two shall build, a bridge for ever Between two beings, each to the other unknown, This eager wonder is at the heart of things.' The cry that is in my heart is also the cry of her heart; The thread with which she binds me binds her too. Her have I sought everywhere, Her have I worshipped within me, Hidden in that worship she has sought me too. Crossing the wide oceans, she came to steal my heart. She forgot to return, having lost her own. Her own charms play traitor to her, She spreads her net, knowing not Whether she will catch or be caught.

Rabindranath Tagore

The Spring



By Thomas Carew


Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost

Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost

Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream

Upon the silver lake or crystal stream;

But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth,

And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth

To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree

The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble-bee.

Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring

In triumph to the world the youthful Spring.

The valleys, hills, and woods in rich array

Welcome the coming of the long'd-for May.

Now all things smile, only my love doth lour;

Nor hath the scalding noonday sun the power

To melt that marble ice, which still doth hold

Her heart congeal'd, and makes her pity cold.

The ox, which lately did for shelter fly

Into the stall, doth now securely lie

In open fields; and love no more is made

By the fireside, but in the cooler shade

Amyntas now doth with his Chloris sleep

Under a sycamore, and all things keep

Time with the season; only she doth carry

June in her eyes, in her heart January.





“April's air stirs in
Willow-leaves...a butterfly
Floats and balances”

― Matsuo Bashō, Japanese Haiku




“Don't touch my plumtree!
Said my friend and saying so...
Broke the branch for me”

― Taigi, Japanese Haiku




“Dead my old fine hopes
And dry my dreaming but still...
Iris, blue each spring”

― Shushiki, Japanese Haiku
"Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly -- and Lo! The Bird is on the Wing.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it."

- Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
*******************************

These pools that, though in forests, still reflect
The total sky almost without defect,
And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,
Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,
And yet not out by any brook or river,
But up by roots to bring dark foliage on.

The trees that have it in their pent-up buds
To darken nature and be summer woods -
Let them think twice before they use their powers
To blot out and drink up and sweep away
These flowery waters and these watery flowers
From snow that melted only yesterday.

Robert Frost

by William Henry Davies

Days Too Short

 

 When primroses are out in Spring, 
And small, blue violets come between; 
When merry birds sing on boughs green, 
And rills, as soon as born, must sing; 

When butterflies will make side-leaps, 
As though escaped from Nature's hand 
Ere perfect quite; and bees will stand 
Upon their heads in fragrant deeps; 

When small clouds are so silvery white 
Each seems a broken rimmed moon-- 
When such things are, this world too soon, 
For me, doth wear the veil of night.

http://www.poetrysoup.com/famous_poems/short/primroses

My primroses are already blooming. last year's plants survived the winter.

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Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 
You haste away so soon; 
As yet the early-rising sun 
Has not attain'd his noon. 
Stay, stay, 
Until the hasting day 
Has run 
But to the even-song; 
And, having pray'd together, we 
Will go with you along. 
 
We have short time to stay, as you, 
We have as short a spring; 
As quick a growth to meet decay, 
As you, or anything. 
We die 
As your hours do, and dry 
Away, 
Like to the summer's rain; 
Or as the pearls of morning's dew, 
Ne'er to be found again. 

Lines Written in Early Spring

I heard a thousand blended notes, 
While in a grove I sate reclined, 
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 
Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 
 
To her fair works did Nature link 
The human soul that through me ran; 
And much it grieved my heart to think 
What man has made of man. 
 
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, 
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; 
And ’tis my faith that every flower 
Enjoys the air it breathes. 
 
The birds around me hopped and played, 
Their thoughts I cannot measure:— 
But the least motion which they made 
It seemed a thrill of pleasure. 
 
The budding twigs spread out their fan, 
To catch the breezy air; 
And I must think, do all I can, 
That there was pleasure there. 
 
If this belief from heaven be sent, 
If such be Nature’s holy plan, 
Have I not reason to lament 
What man has made of man?

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