En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Springtime

Over the valleys and over the mountains,
Borne on the wings of the south wind I come;
Breaking the ice-chains, unloosing the fountains,
Waking all Nature to beauty and bloom.

Flowers from the green turf in myriads are springing;
Zephyrs are faint with the perfume they bear;
While the voices of Earth, Air, and Ocean are singing,
Hail to the springtime! the youth of the year!

Oh, gather my rosebuds and sport in my bowers,
Children of Earth, while my footsteps I stay.
Wreathe with your garlands my vanishing hours,
Which like life's sunny springtime are passing away.

poem by Anne Lynch Botta from Poems (1848)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Missing Spring

I know that the spring will be here soon
and the flowers will start to bloom.
What I do not know is when it comes
will it take me out of this gloom?

I live with the days that still are cold
and rub my hands together.
I'm tired of waiting for warm spring days
and worrying about the weather.

But what if spring does come this year
and I don't see your face?
Then springtime might as well stay away
for it can never replace

the absence of you and how I feel
and all the flowers will only steal
the warmth of my springtime day.
So the winter might as well stay.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Springtime Magic

There is so much magic in springtime
As our landscape begins to wake up
Much like a warm delicious coffee
That we sip from a special coffee cup

Little sprouts pop out of the ground
Oh, what did I plant last year?
Often we get a big surprise and
It's so pretty that we may shed a tear

Trees that were naked and quite ugly
Begin to have a fuzzy green
For leaf buds are really excited
To open in springtime it seems

I love this time of year and without it
It would be ever so tragic
Nothing makes me happier than
Mother Nature's Springtime Magic!

poem by Marilyn Lott
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Come Springtime

come springtime
vienna, austria
your flowers
i shall smell
your mountains
i shall trek
your air i shall
breathe

come springtime
on the month of june
with her.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Birth of Spring (Constanza)

April graces us with showers,
As cold snows melt, their wintry scene
Is changed to many shades of green.

From tender shoots, soon, Spring flowers.
Apollo's face is golden fair....
The scent of spring is in the air.

As blossoms float down from bowers
When gusts of April breezes blow,
They spread below like golden snow.

I delight and watch for hours,
For truly at this time of year
I feel God's presence dwelling here.

Blessed and touched by divine powers.
The joy of springtime here on Earth
Is felt with every flower's birth.

April graces us with showers,
From tender shoots, soon, Spring flowers.
As blossoms float down from bowers
I delight and watch for hours,
Blessed and touched by divine powers.

poem by Connie Marcum Wong
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The Beds of Fleur-de-Lys

HIGH-LYING, sea-blown stretches of green turf,
Wind-bitten close, salt-colored by the sea,
Low curve on curve spread far to the cool sky,
And, curving over them as long they lie,
Beds of wild fleur-de-lys.

Wide-flowing, self-sown, stealing near and far,
Breaking the green like islands in the sea;
Great stretches at your feet, and spots that bend
Dwindling over the horizon’s end,—
Wild beds of fleur-de-lys.

The light keen wind streams on across the lifts,
Their wind of western springtime by the sea;
The close turf smiles unmoved, but over her
Is the far-flying rustle and sweet stir
In beds of fleur-de-lys.

And here and there across the smooth, low grass
Tall maidens wander, thinking of the sea;
And bend, and bend, with light robes blown aside,
For the blue lily-flowers that bloom so wide,—
The beds of fleur-de-lys.

poem by Charlotte Perkins Stetson Gilman
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I Wish I Could Sing Of The Beauty I See

I wish I could sing of the beauty I see
The beauty of Nature that's all around me
In the warmth of November of the Southern Spring
The blackbird and magpie and shrike thrush do sing.

Of singing Nature's praises the poets never tire
And her beauty the Nature artist does inspire
To paint and frame a beautiful picture to hang on a gallery wall
When it comes to beauty Nature the most beautiful of all.

The buzzing of flying insects the flies and the bees
The soughing of the wind in the bushes and trees
The babble of the river and birdsong I hear
The voices of Nature are everywhere near.

The roar of the ocean when the tide is in
As the huge waves crash on the beach they do make a loud din
The howling of the storm, thunder cracks in the sky
When Nature feels angry to scream she's not shy.

Yet the beauty of Nature is lovely to behold
What is more beautiful than the parrots in their blue, red, green and gold
And the flowers of the parkland that bloom naturally
I wish I could write of the beauty I see.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Put On Your Green Shoes

Gather round children and you will hear
The sound of a cricket crying in your ear
Thats mother nature, shes crying out loud
This old earth needs some loving now, so
Chorus:
Put on your green shoes
Put on your green shoes
Mother nature, shes calling to you
To put on your green shoes
Put on your green shoes and walk with me
Well go around back and plant a tree
Help it grow and you will see
The way the world was meant to be
Chorus
Wonder how the world would be
Without the shade of a redwood tree
Without all the fish, the birds and the bees
Springtime would be lonely, so
Chorus

song performed by by Cyndi Lauper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Springtime Fun

Springtime fun,
it’s the red bull of life,
the wind in your hair,
the sun on your face,
it’s the joy of life.

You can go swimming in your pool,
enjoy yourself.
play sports have fun,
Have a cinnamon bun.
Enjoy what time you have in this great season.

The sunny blue sky,
the fresh air,
going to the skate park to show off,
it’s what springtime is all about,
it’s the joy of life.

poem by Aaron Ward
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Arethusa

I.
Arethusa arose
From her couch of snows
In the Acroceraunian mountains,--
From cloud and from crag,
With many a jag,
Shepherding her bright fountains.
She leapt down the rocks,
With her rainbow locks
Streaming among the streams;--
Her steps paved with green
The downward ravine
Which slopes to the western gleams;
And gliding and springing
She went, ever singing,
In murmurs as soft as sleep;
The Earth seemed to love her,
And Heaven smiled above her,
As she lingered towards the deep.

II.
Then Alpheus bold,
On his glacier cold,
With his trident the mountains strook;
And opened a chasm
In the rocks—with the spasm
All Erymanthus shook.
And the black south wind
It unsealed behind
The urns of the silent snow,
And earthquake and thunder
Did rend in sunder
The bars of the springs below.
And the beard and the hair
Of the River-god were
Seen through the torrent’s sweep,
As he followed the light
Of the fleet nymph’s flight
To the brink of the Dorian deep.

III.
'Oh, save me! Oh, guide me!
And bid the deep hide me,
For he grasps me now by the hair!'
The loud Ocean heard,
To its blue depth stirred,
And divided at her prayer;
And under the water
The Earth’s white daughter
Fled like a sunny beam;
Behind her descended
Her billows, unblended
With the brackish Dorian stream:—
Like a gloomy stain
On the emerald main
Alpheus rushed behind,--
As an eagle pursuing
A dove to its ruin
Down the streams of the cloudy wind.

IV.
Under the bowers
Where the Ocean Powers
Sit on their pearled thrones;
Through the coral woods
Of the weltering floods,
Over heaps of unvalued stones;
Through the dim beams
Which amid the streams
Weave a network of coloured light;
And under the caves,
Where the shadowy waves
Are as green as the forest’s night:--
Outspeeding the shark,
And the sword-fish dark,
Under the Ocean’s foam,
And up through the rifts
Of the mountain clifts
They passed to their Dorian home.

V.
And now from their fountains
In Enna’s mountains,
Down one vale where the morning basks,
Like friends once parted
Grown single-hearted,
They ply their watery tasks.
At sunrise they leap
From their cradles steep
In the cave of the shelving hill;
At noontide they flow
Through the woods below
And the meadows of asphodel;
And at night they sleep
In the rocking deep
Beneath the Ortygian shore;--
Like spirits that lie
In the azure sky
When they love but live no more.

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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This Time Is My Time

This time is my time to think about the spring
and all those little bluebirds that have a song to sing.
And when my thoughts are on them
my heart is singing too, singing like a fool
that's so in love, so in love with you.

This time is my time to take it in my stride
and show the world I love you and never let it hide.
Let all the springtime flowers make me feel like them,
blushing with rosy red colors over and over again.

There won't be another time like this.
I can't let it pass me by.
For when the springtime's here again
if you're not here I'll cry.

Now this time is my time to think about the past
when all those little bluebirds flew
'cause springtime doesn't last.
Then sadly I'll remember when I had to say
good bye to love, goodbye to you
'cause my time went away.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Land Of Love

Hail! voyagers, hail!
Whence e'er ye come, where'er ye rove,
No calmer strand,
No sweeter land,
Will e'er ye view, than the Land of Love!

Hail! voyagers, hail!
To these, our shores, soft gales invite:
The palm plumes wave,
The billows lave,
And hither point fix'd stars of light!

Hail! voyagers, hail!
Think not our groves wide brood with gloom;
In this, our isle,
Bright flowers smile:
Full urns, rose-heaped, these valleys bloom.

Hail! voyagers, hail!
Be not deceived; renounce vain things;
Ye may not find
A tranquil mind,
Though hence ye sail with swiftest wings.

Hail! voyagers, hail!
Time flies full fast; life soon is o'er;
And ye may mourn,
That hither borne,
Ye left behind our pleasant shore.

poem by Herman Melville
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A Dream in Winter

When all the daisies and daffodils
are buried deep below,
and summer's but a memory
hidden 'pon the drifting snow ~
'tis there beneath the whitened glow,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives the dreams of springtime hue
with a gleam of emerald sheen.

When all the trees are bared and bent
against wintry winds that blow,
and spring is but a wistful sigh
'pon the branches that bow low ~
'tis there within the boughs so wide,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives the buds of springtime hue
with a gleam of emerald sheen.

When roses fade 'pon winter's morn
as their petals flee on frosty breath,
and thorns are left to sadly yearn
in their bed of beauty's death ~
'tis there beneath those roses grown,
in a bed of greenest green,
that lives a vision of springtime hue
with a gleam of pastel sheen.

When winter brings a world of white,
a wonderland of icy glow,
and ends the seasons of green, and gold,
hidden 'neath a field of snow ~
'tis there the sleeping earth awaits
in a bed of springtime green,
sighing softly through winter's chill,
'pon a dream of emerald sheen.

poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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Paris In Springtime

We were blessed with an angel,
The day that she came,
Only a child so perfect,
Could carry her name,
I’d never imagined,
How precious she’d be,
Even now I’m amazed,
That she came from me,
They say Paris in springtime,
Is a magical place,
Like the beauty I see,
When I look at her face,
Pariss in springtime,
Is what they gave me,
I will love her forever,
And Eternity.

2005 - For my first borne, Pariss (spelt double 's') .

poem by Scarborough Gypsy
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Bring Flowers

Bring flowers, young flowers, for the festal board,
To wreathe the cup ere the wine is pour'd;
Bring flowers! they are springing in wood and vale,
Their breath floats out on the southern gale,
And the touch of the sunbeam hath waked the rose,
To deck the hall where the bright wine flows.

Bring flowers to strew in the conqueror's path-
He hath shaken thrones with his stormy wrath!
He comes with the spoils of nations back,
The vines lie crush'd in his chariot's track,
The turf looks red where he won the day-
Bring flowers to die in the conqueror's way!

Bring flowers to the captive's lonely cell,
They have tales of the joyous woods to tell;
Of the free blue streams, and the glowing sky,
And the bright world shut from his languid eye;
They will bear him a thought of the sunny hours,
And a dream of his youth-bring him flowers, wild flowers!

Bring flowers, fresh flowers, for the bride to wear!
They were born to blush in her shining hair.
She is leaving the home of her childhood's mirth,
She hath bid farewell to her father's hearth,
Her place is now by another's side-
Bring flowers for the locks of the fair young bride!

Bring flowers, pale flowers, o'er the bier to shed,
A crown for the brow of the early dead!
For this through its leaves hath the white-rose burst,
For this in the woods was the violet nurs'd.
Though they smile in vain for what once was ours,
They are love's last gift-bring ye flowers, pale flowers!

Bring flowers to the shrine where we kneel in prayer,
They are nature's offering, their place is there!
They speak of hope to the fainting heart,
With a voice of promise they come and part,
They sleep in dust through the wintry hours,
They break forth in glory-bring flowers, bright flowers!

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Earth Wind & Fire

Maurice white & skip scarborough
Are you satisfied
In your life and time
Does it clear you mind
With all the hurt you find
Built on mother earth
They were meant to stay
Nations bloom today
On gifts of yesterday
Born of the earth, are nature's children
Fed by the wind, the breath of life
Judged by the fiery hands of god
World goes by the hand
Of the master plan
Can't you understand
You're but a grain of sand
Do you need a guide
To make you feel satisfied
Head to the sky
Will tell you why
Born of the earth, are nature's children
Fed by the wind, the breath of life
Judged by the fiery hands of god

song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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First Day Of Spring

I know today's the first of spring.
I wonder what the spring will bring?

I know it will bring blooming trees
and pollen that will make some sneeze.
I know it will bring lots of flowers
to stir our senses and feelings for hours.
I know it will make the earth come alive
and bees and wasps building a hive.
I know it will start the ritual of love
and an increase of cloudless skies above.
I know it will bring springtime rain
that will end with rainbows that can't remain.
I know it will make me happy to see
the warmer days and tranquil sea.

What I don't know is what I will do
if springtime wishes don't come true?

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Given And Taken

The snow-flakes were softly falling
Adown on the landscape white,
When the violet eyes of my first born
Opened unto the light;
And I thought as I pressed him to me,
With loving, rapturous thrill,
He was pure and fair as the snow-flakes
That lay on the landscape still.

I smiled when they spoke of the weary
Length of the winter’s night,
Of the days so short and so dreary,
Of the sun’s cold cheerless light—
I listened, but in their murmurs
Nor by word nor thought took part,
For the smiles of my gentle darling
Brought light to my home and heart.

Oh! quickly the joyous springtime
Came back to our ice-bound earth,
Filling meadows and woods with sunshine,
And hearts with gladsome mirth,
But, ah! on earth’s dawning beauty
There rested a gloomy shade,
For our tiny household blossom
Began to droop and fade.

And I, shuddering, felt that the frailest
Of the flowers in the old woods dim
Had a surer hold on existence
Than I dared to hope for him.
In the flush of the summer’s beauty
On a sunny, golden day,
When flowers gemmed dell and upland,
My darling passed away.

Now I chafed at the brilliant sunshine
That flooded my lonely room,
Now I wearied of bounteous Nature,
So full of life and bloom;
I regretted the wintry hours
With the snow-flakes falling fast,
And the little form of my nursling
With his arms around me cast.

They laid his tiny garment
In an attic chamber high,
His coral, his empty cradle,
That they might not meet my eye;
And his name was never uttered,
What e’er each heart might feel,
For they wished the wound in my bosom
Might have tune to close and heal.

It has done so thanks to that Power
That has been my earthly stay,
And should you talk of my darling,
I could listen now all day,
For I know that each passing minute
Brings me nearer life’s last shore,
And nearer that glorious Kingdom
Where we both shall meet once more!

poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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The Days of Spring Are Near

The days of spring are near
With the flowing water around
In every heart of youth to steer
That still with the winter's bound
So lovely as each loneliness
And black as rocks in the hills
These condense come with caress
As water splashes and spills

The youth of new springtime's here
Is in every life and brawl
Where the falls shall touch and bear
In its freshness of its early call
And bring mystics wind to blow
While the leaves are becoming green
Away is then all winter's snow
With the life's sullenness between

The days of spring thoughts steer
Into the young days fairly bright
And become here free everywhere
With returning of our summer light
To lift the hearts to higher grounds
And there bring us peace of mind
Fill up the air with springtime sounds
Leaving the dusky diffuses behind

(*never since the middle summer's spring, met we— Shakespeare [I could also use 'freedom' instead of 'spring'])

poem by Peter S. Quinn
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The Wind Of March

Up from the sea, the wild north wind is blowing
Under the sky's gray arch;
Smiling, I watch the shaken elm-boughs, knowing
It is the wind of March.

Between the passing and the coming season,
This stormy interlude
Gives to our winter-wearied hearts a reason
For trustful gratitude.

Welcome to waiting ears its harsh forewarning
Of light and warmth to come,
The longed-for joy of Nature's Easter morning,
The earth arisen in bloom.

In the loud tumult winter's strength is breaking;
I listen to the sound,
As to a voice of resurrection, waking
To life the dead, cold ground.

Between these gusts, to the soft lapse I hearken
Of rivulets on their way;
I see these tossed and naked tree-tops darken
With the fresh leaves of May.

This roar of storm, this sky so gray and lowering
Invite the airs of Spring,
A warmer sunshine over fields of flowering,
The bluebird's song and wing.

Closely behind, the Gulf's warm breezes follow
This northern hurricane,
And, borne thereon, the bobolink and swallow
Shall visit us again.

And, in green wood-paths, in the kine-fed pasture
And by the whispering rills,
Shall flowers repeat the lesson of the Master,
Taught on his Syrian hills.

Blow, then, wild wind! thy roar shall end in singing,
Thy chill in blossoming;
Come, like Bethesda's troubling angel, bringing
The healing of the Spring.

poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Death Papers.... (Part Two)

i, the body
of earth and wind,
cry for the mountains,
the valleys, and rivers.
i am man,
the warrior naked,
muscled dark and lean.
with eyes borrowed from the hawk,
and hands that turn the ground.
i bear the feet of time determined,
the marks of the whip scar my back.
with hardened phallus,
and panting breath,
i follow the trail of the wolves.
i am woman,
the warrior naked,
long hair swept by the wind.
with eyes borrowed from the owl,
and hands skilled in healing.
i bear the feet of time determined,
the scar of the chains on my wrists.
breasts born with fire,
garden wet with hungry birth,
i am the trail the wolves follow!

and now,
i, the body
lay down my cross,
seed in the furrow,
sunlight waiting
for darkness's goodbye kiss.
for i, the body,
am earth and wind....
mountains, valleys,
and rivers cry for me!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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