The Promise Of Spring
JUST a whisper, half-heard,
But our heart knows the word;
Caresses that seem
Like love's lips in a dream;
Yet we know she is here,
The desirèd, the dear,
The love of the year!
In the murmur of boughs,
In the softening of skies,
In the sun on the house,
In the daffodil's green
(Half an inch, half-unseen
Mid the mournful brown mould
Where the rotten leaf lies)
Her story is told.
O Spring, darling Spring,
O sweet days of blue weather
The thrushes shall sing,
Fields shall grow green again,
Daisies be seen again,
Hedges grow white;
Then down the lane,
Grown leafy again,
Shall go lovers together--
Lovers who see again
Sunshine and showers,
Perfume and flowers,
Dewy dear hours,
Dream and delight.
Warm shall nests be again,
Winter's behind us;
Springtime shall find us,
Taking our hands,
Lead us away from the cold and the snow,
Into the green world where primroses grow.
Winter, hard winter, forgotten, forgiven;
All the old pain paid, to seventy times seven,
All the new glory a-glow.
Love, when Spring calls, will you still turn away?
Winter has wooed you in vain, and shall May?
Love, when Spring calls, will you go?
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Life Is Lovely All the Year
When the buds are blossoming,
Smiling welcome to the spring,
Lovers choose a wedding day -
Life is love in merry May!
Spring is green - Fal lal la!
Summer's rose - Fal lal la!
It is sad when Summer goes,
Fal la!
Autumn's gold - Fal lal la!
Winter's grey - Fal lal la!
Winter still is far away -
Fal la!
Leaves in Autumn fade and fall;
Winter is the end of all.
Spring and summer teem with glee:
Spring and summer, then, for me!
Fal la!
In the Spring-time seed is sown:
In the Summer grass is mown:
In the Autumn you may reap:
Winter is the time for sleep.
Spring is hope - Fal lal la!
Summer's joy - Fal lal la!
Spring and Summer never cloy,
Fal la!
Autumn, toil - Fal lal la!
Winter, rest - Fal lal la!
Winter, after all, is best -
Fal la!
Spring and summer pleasure you,
Autumn, ay, and winter, too -
Every season has its cheer;
Life is lovely all the year!
Fal la!
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To His Lady
(Who asked a Song in Spring)
WHY do you bid your poet sing,
Who has no mind to song--
Who only wants to see the Spring,
Long sought and tarrying long?
The shivering, dreary winter through
My song enshrined my vow;
If then my songs were sweet to you,
Let me be silent now!
Have I not duly sung, my dear,
Your goodness and your grace?
Now that your rival, Spring, is here,
O let me see her face!
The hedge is white with buds of May,
The fields are green with Spring,
Oh, give your bard a holiday:
He does not want to sing!
He wants to listen; all alone,
He wants to steal away
To hear the ring-doves' tender tone,
And what the thrushes say.
He wants to hear what can't be heard
When you and love are near--
The sweet Spring's soft and secret word;
Oh, let him go, my dear!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Did Not Know
I did not know—
And it was but a few short days ago—
How near to spring, it was; the world lay still
In all the bitter cold of winter chill;
Yet even then the May-buds with the glow
Of burning lips pressed to the melting snow
Had kissed themselves a window, to the sky,—
And spring was nigh.
I did not know—
Ah, was it such a little while ago!—
Within my heart how near it was to spring;
I did not guess the blessed blossoming,
Until this gladsome morn I woke, and lo!
Sweet with new fragrance does the whole world grow
From that so fair and snow-sprung flower dear,—
And spring is here!
poem by Abbie Farwell Brown from The New England Magazine / Volume 24, Issue 2 (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy!
The Dying Child
He could not die when trees were green,
For he loved the time too well.
His little hands, when flowers were seen,
Were held for the bluebell,
As he was carried o'er the green.
His eye glanced at the white-nosed bee;
He knew those children of the spring:
When he was well and on the lea
He held one in his hands to sing,
Which filled his heart with glee.
Infants, the children of the spring!
How can an infant die
When butterflies are on the wing,
Green grass, and such a sky?
How can they die at spring?
He held his hands for daisies white,
And then for violets blue,
And took them all to bed at night
That in the green fields grew,
As childhood's sweet delight.
And then he shut his little eyes,
And flowers would notice not;
Birds' nests and eggs caused no surprise,
He now no blossoms got;
They met with plaintive sighs.
When winter came and blasts did sigh,
And bare were plain and tree,
As he for ease in bed did lie
His soul seemed with the free,
He died so quietly.
poem by John Clare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When Winter Darkening All Around
When winter covering all the ground
Hides every sign of Spring, sir.
However you may look around,
Pray what will then you sing, sir?
The Spring was here last year I know,
And many bards did flute, sir;
I shall not fear a little snow
Forbid me from my lute, sir.
If words grow dull and rhymes grow rare,
I'll sing of Spring's farewell, sir.
For every season steals an air,
Which has a Springtime smell, sir.
But if upon the other side,
With passionate longing burning,
Will seek the half unjeweled tide,
And sing of Spring's returning.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spring in Sweden
Spring has finally reached Sweden too
warm rays of sun shining over me and you
Snowbells and bluebells in bloom
buttercupps, and tulips soon
Over half a year of winter is gone
half a year with no light, nothing shone
Grass turns slowly from brown to green
so does the trees, now they are seen
By us who wanders in the woods
weather too hot for our hoods
Blessed be the spring so sweet
blessed be the spring so neat
poem by Lisa thecountrygirl Timmermand
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Winter's Spring
The winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please--no bees to hum--
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring--the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.
poem by John Clare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spring Song III
HERE'S the Spring-time, Sweet!
Earth's green gown is new,
Lambs begin to bleat,
Doves begin to coo,
Birds begin to woo
In the wood and lane;
Sweet, the tale is true
Spring is here again!
I have been discreet
All the winter through;
Now, before your feet,
Blossoms let me strew.
Flowers, as yet, are few;
Will my lady deign
Take this flower or two?
Spring is here again
Make the year complete,
Give the Spring her due!
All the flowers entreat,
All the song-birds sue.
'Twixt the green and blue
Let Love wake and reign,
Let me worship you--
Spring is here again!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To A Tulip-Bulb
SLEEP first,
And let the storm and winter do their worst;
Let all the garden lie
Bare to the angry sky,
The shed leaves shiver and die
Above your bed;
Let the white coverlet
Of sunlit snow be set
Over your sleeping head,
While in the earth you sleep
Where dreams are dear and deep,
And heed nor wind nor snow,
Nor how the dark moons go.
In this sad upper world where Winter's hand
Has bound with chains of ice the weary land.
Then wake
To see the whole world lovely for Spring's sake;
The garden fresh and fair
With green things everywhere,
And winter's want and care
Banished and fled;
Primrose and violet
In every border set,
With rain and sunshine fed.
Then bless the fairy song
That cradled you so long,
And bless the fairy kiss
That wakened you to this--
A world where Winter's dead and Spring doth reign
And lovers whisper in the budding lane.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hope
O thrush, is it true?
Your song tells
Of a world born anew,
Of fields gold with buttercups, woodlands all blue
With hyacinth bells;
Of primroses deep
In the moss of the lane,
Of a Princess asleep
And dear magic to do.
Will the sun wake the princess? O thrush, is it true?
Will Spring come again?
Will Spring come again?
Now at last
With soft shine and rain
Will the violet be sweet where the dead leaves have lain?
Will Winter be past?
In the brown of the copse
Will white wind-flowers star through
Where the last oak-leaf drops?
Will the daisies come too,
And the may and the lilac? Will Spring come again?
O thrush, is it true?
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hopes
A PRINCESS, sleeping in enchanted bowers,
Earth springs to waking at Spring's voice and kiss,
And after winter's cold, unlovely hours,
Laughs out to find how beautiful she is.
Spring flings a song across the field and fold,
And sighs it through the glad wood's tangled ways;
And million, million tales of love are told,
And dreams are dreamed of undivided days.
In hollows where so late but dead leaves lay,
Through the dead leaves the primroses push up;
And wind-flowers fleck the copse, and fields are gay
With daisies and the budding buttercup.
So in our hearts, though thick the dead leaves lie
Of grief--heaped up by winds of old despair--
May there not be a spring-time by-and-by,
When flowers of joy shall blossom even there?
So long has Winter held our hearts in his,
We dare not dream of Spring and all her flowers?
Ah! the undreamed-of happiness it is
That comes--the dreamed-of joy is never ours!
When late the trees were brown and hedges bare,
And keen east wind cut sharp as human pain,
Did the Earth guess how soon she would be fair
With Spring's dear dainty loveliness again?
We do not guess of joy, but hope alone--
Like life's mysterious force that thrills the earth--
Lives in our souls, unrecognised, unknown,
Till time shall bring unhoped-for joy to birth.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spring Spring Dance
Spring spring dance
Away from all loneliness
Come here in your trance
And give of its caress
Sweet light of grace
That comes with daybreak
In shadowed tint plays
When the air is awake
Spring be now sweet
In all your endeavor
Every adore so neatly treat
From winter’s cold war
O love of heavens blue
That gives the clearest view
For light to come thru
To bring on prosper true
Spring of beginning life
Mother of seedlings low
How much you must strife
To give the morning its glow
For blooms to grow high
And increase leaves to green
Opening up sunshine sky
Where summer has been
Spring be now sweet
In all your endeavor
Every adore so neatly treat
From winter’s cold war
O love of heavens blue
That gives the clearest view
For light to come thru
To bring on prosper true
poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spring Can Really Hang You Up The Most
Once I was a sentimental thing,
Threw my heart away each spring;
Now a spring romance hasnt got a chance
Promised my first dance to winter;
All Ive got to shows a splinter for my little fling!
Spring this year has got me feeling like a horse that never left the post;
I lie in my room staring up at the ceiling,
Spring can really hang you up the most!
Mornings kiss wakes tres and flowers,
And to them Id like to drink a toast;
I walk in the park just to kill lonely hours,
Spring can really hang you up the most.
All afternoon those birds twitter twit,
I know the tune, this is love, this is it!
Heard it before and I know the score,
And Ive decided that spring is a bore!
Love seemed sure around the new year,
Now its april, love is just a ghost;
Spring arrived on time, only what became of you, dear?
Spring can really hang you up the most!
Spring can really hang you up the most!
Spring is here, theres no mistaking
Robins building nests from coast to coast;
My heart tries to sing so they wont hear it breaking,
Spring can really hang you up the most!
College boys are writing sonnets,
In the tender passion theyre engrossed;
But Im on the shelf with last years easter bonnets,
Spring can really hang you up the most!
Love came my way, I hope it would last;
We had our day, now thats all in the past!
Spring came along a season of son,
Full of sweet promise but womething went wrong!
Doctors once prescribed a tonic,
Sulphur and moloasses was the dose;
Didnt help a bit, my condition must be chronic,
Spring can really hang you up the most!
All alone, the partys over,
Old man winter was a gracious host;
But when you keep praying for snow to hide the clover
Spring can really hang you up the most!
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Now Here Again Is Spring
The day is now in sun high
And everything its pleasure
From winter's footfall try
Of dark and frost erasure
Now morning comes in glow
And glory songs of life
Before there were in snow
The footsteps of our strife
Now here again is spring
So full of life and green
From under winter's wing
That only gloom had seen
And every while is now fun
Of much light and flowers
For darkness deep’s on run
In every new coming hours
The yesterdays of sprung deep
In all its gray and dark
Are now whiles in joys sweep
With joy and light to spark
Come spring and sing again
With delight of life new born
And let old winter be in vain
With its loneliness outworn
poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Changes
Seasons may change, we stay the same.
We always stay the same.
We always stay the same.
Winter brings snow, when no, no flowers grow.
They wait for the spring.
Yes, they wait til the spring.
In the spring, young men grow.
til theyre old enough to know,
Better.
Better.
Leaves have turned green, now spring has been
And gone
Summers here.
The autumn trees swing to and fro.
Their leaves turn brown,
Now young men know
Better.
Better.
[just let me listen to that.]
Evryone one feels good
And I knew they would.
Its been quite a good year.
Its been quite a good year.
Its been quite a good year.
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Maiden's Prayer
SPRING, pretty Spring, what treasure do you bring to me?
Green grass and buttercups, cherry-bloom and may?
Sunshine to be glad with me, and little birds to sing to me?
Warm nests to call me along the woodland way?
Spring, happy Spring, what wonder will you do for me?
Light the tulip lanterns, and set the furze a-fire?
Fill your sky with sails of cloud on waves of living blue for me?
Show me green cornfields and budding of the briar?
Spring, darling Spring, my days will not return to me,
You who see them fleeting, you, all time above,
You who move the whole world's heart, ah move one heart to turn to me,
--Bring me a lover, and teach me how to love!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Winter's Arms
Winter holds me with his arms of icy white,
and kissed my breath with frost upon the pane.
Subdued by touch of winter's frigid hand,
I pray for spring to find me once again.
O'wind, you whistle to the winter's tune.
Your melody is heard 'pon day and night,
but one day spring will come to rescue me,
and wisk away your song of winter's blight.
O'tree, you're frozen in the winter's dream.
Your leaves have left you 'neath a moon of white,
but when my prayers are answered 'pon spring's dawn,
you'll thaw beneath its sun with warm delight.
O'field, your harvest has been reaped and spent ~
and winter blankets you 'neath snowy mounds.
Yet one day soon in springtime's rising mist
you'll feel the greening of your earth rebound.
Winter holds me with his arms of icy white,
and kissed my breath with frost upon the pane ~
but deep within I somehow always know,
that spring will come and find me once again.
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Winter's Whitest Spurts
Although John Clare declared that he
saw spring in winter’s whitest spurts,
for many this is hard to see
when, freezing, all our body hurts,
and winter’s direst discontent
makes cold blasts pierce the frozen soul.
We wonder where the summer went
when icy winds exact their toll,
and whistling toll for all of us
on nights we wish would be more silent.
each blast a blaring blunderbuss
that’s aimed to make us all an island,
disconnected from the spring
and summer, fall, that we remember
when we for warmth our cold arms fling
around each other in December.
Inspired by John Clare’s “The Winter’s Spring”:
THE winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please-no bees to hum-
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring-the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.
12/24/09
poem by Gershon Hepner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love Has Its Seasons
A cool chill sweeps through the air
winter is approaching
soon the grass will have a blanket of white
nights will get longer
then soon it will be over for another year.
Spring will be with us
new growth will spring up from the ground
the days will get warmer
when summer once again appears
spreading its colours everywhere.
Then it is back into autumn once more
and the chilly air that it brings.
Love has its seasons also to share
sometimes it can be frosty
and winter chills fill the air
it can be cold
like the white blanket of snow.
Love can be like spring
imparting new life as it begins to grow.
The glow that if offers
is like the warming summer sun
that blossoms into beauty
before the ravages of autumn come
and the years trickle away.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!