Spring
Nothing is so beautiful as spring --
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. -- Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.
poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Nothing is so beautiful as spring - when weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring the ear, it strikes like lightning to hear him sing.
quote by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Spring (in answer to Gerard Manley Hopkins)
Spring has an own beauty
where grasses and weeds appear with brush
and stem, growing in full lush
and the sky, the air has serenity
and insects, birds and animals are full of activity,
the wind quivers in every bush, bulrush and rush
in the veldt and at the marsh and even the little thrush
sings to its heart’s content with a magic quality
the whole of nature rejoices its joy
as if everything has a new beginning
without any threat or ploy
almost like Eden before the sinning
innocent as the heart of every small girl and boy
where the light of God is brightly shining.
[Reference: Spring by Gerard Manley Hopkins. Note that the rhyme scheme of some Petrach or Italian sonnets was abba/abba/cd/cd/cd and not just abba/abba/cde/cde. Although Hopkins’s verse is viewed as a modern sonnet it meets all the requirements
of a Italian / patrach sonnet.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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!
Why The Spring Is Late
To Miss Eva Russell.
The spring time is deaf to our pleading,
The meadows are brown as can be.
The hilltops are bleak and unlovely,
No thrush sits and sings on the tree.
I hear many practical people
Explain why the spring loiters so,
But, dear one, they all are mistaken:
The true reason I alone know.
The South-wind, Spring's hand-maiden, told me
Her mistress declared, o'er and o'er,
That, till you were here to give greeting,
She'd visit our prairies no more.
And all her vast household stand by her!
The thrush says he cannot come here
And sing the old songs that you loved so,
Unless you are lingering near.
The wild pinks that rival your blushes,
The violets blue as the sky,
Declare it no pleasure to blossom
Unseen by your beautiful eye.
Oh darling! I'm loath to upbraid you,
So come without further delay.
Each moment you linger, remember
You are keeping the spring time away.
Then come! we are waiting to welcome
The birds and the flowers, 'tis true;
But warmer than all is the welcome,
Fair girl, that is waiting for you.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sweet Mama Blue
Written by orbison/melson.
I know a place in new orleans.
They call the castle of kings and queens.
Where an old sweet black woman sings.
And plays piano like a dream.
She puts out all her beautiful heart and soul for you.
Sweet mamma blue.
Sweet mamma blue will only sing about the truth.
And it will get to you.
Sweet mamma blue will sing of love as only she can do.
Sweet mamma blue.sweet mamma blue
One night I stayed past closing time.
Sweet mamma blue my troubled mind.
She sang the night away for me.
She made me see what I couldnt see.
That only by loving life will all your dreams come true.
Sweet mamma blue.
Sweet mamma blue will only sing about the truth.
And it will get to you.
Sweet mamma blue will sing of love as only she can do.
Sweet mamma blue.sweet mamma blue.
They say shes gone from misery.
But she still lives in my memory.
I still can see her smile and say
Ill bet you make it all the way.
If you will try the lord will surely see you through
.
Sweet mamma blue,
The world sure will miss you.
And when I feel blue I think of you.
Sweet mamma blue.sweet mamma blue.
Sweet mamma blue...
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My Garden Fair
Flowers are blooming in
my garden fair. Their
sweet perfume fills the
air. My Garden fair is
beautiful to see., with all
its glory surrounding me.
My garden fair is romantic
and bright, and so redeeming
in sunlight where song birds
nestle in the trees, and sing
with each flowing breeze.
My garden fair is a glorious
sight, that I rush to greet
at twilight my garden fair is
most supreme with such lovely
enchanting scenes.
poem by Dr. Janice Marie Murrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Far Out In The Wilderness (Terzanelle)
Far out in the wilderness
I have come upon a thrush
far from its nest, singing in happiness
where knee high grass brush,
where grass is bristling
I have come upon a thrush
While some weeds do sting
where it with joy does sing
where grass is bristling
in a sound that is sweet and clearly does ring
with a blessing that is serene and profound
where it with joy does sing
in the most beautiful sound
as if it's praising the creator
with a blessing that is serene and profound
I heard the little great orator
far out in the wilderness
as if it's praising the creator
far from its nest, singing in happiness.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Spring
In spring
The tender leaves spring
And release the coiled mind to spring
And fling
The thing
That till then did wring.
In spring
The little birds sing
And sling the depressed mind to swing
And bring
Bells of joy
To ring and cling.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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!
Black Saturday
They say a touch of spring is in the air;
They say the wattle trees with bloom are gay;
They say each garden now begins to wear
(Not that I care)
A festal garb that waxes day by day
In loneliness. They tell, too, of blue skies
Aglow with hope . . . I laugh them all to scorn,
And gaze upon these things with listless eyes
That see nought but a vista most forlorn.
They say that bird songs come now with a rush
Of rarest melody; the ambient air
Thrills to the voice of blackbird and of thrush
(I answer 'Tush!
Let 'em go sing their heads off. I don't care.')
They say a kindly sun beams o'er the earth.
They say - Bah! Who pays heed to what they say?
Life is a sham; a mockery is mirth;
I'm making out my income tax today.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tempest
You saw perched on a cliff a maid,
Her raiment white above the breakers,
When the mad sea reared up and played
Its whips of spray on coastal acres
And now and then the lightnings flush,
And purple gleams upon her hover,
And fluttering up in swirling rush,
The wind rides in her airy cover?
Fair is the sea in gales arrayed,
The heavens drained of blue and flashing,
But fairer on her cliff the maid
Than storms and skies and breakers crashing.
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beautiful Rothesay
Beautiful Rothesay, your scenery is most grand,
You cannot be surpassed in fair Scotland.
Tis healthy for holiday makers, to go there,
For the benefit of their health, by inhaling the pure air
And to hear the innocent birds, on a fine Summer day,
Carolling their sweet songs, so lively and gay,
Therefore, holiday makers, be advised by me,
And visit beautiful Rothesay, by the side of the Sea.
Then sweet Jessie, let us go,
To Scotland's garden of Eden O!
And spend the lovely Summer day,
In the beautiful village of Rothesay.
There you can see the ships, passing to and fro,
Which will drive away dull care, and woe,
And, the heavens breath smells wooingly there,
Therefore, let's away dear Jessie, to inhale the balmy air.
The mansions, there, are most beautiful to be seen,
Likewise the trees, and shrubberies, green.
Therefore, we will feel happy and gay,
Walking hand in hand, together the live long day.
Along the beautiful walks with our hearts fu' cheerie,
My dear love! Until we grow weary.
Then, return home at night, with our spirits light and gay,
After viewing the beautiful scenery of Rothesay.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Summer Song
The meadow lark’s trill and the brown thrush’s whistle
From morning to evening fill all the sweet air,
And my heart is as light as the down of a thistle –
The world is so bright and the earth is so fair.
There is life in the wood, there is bloom on the meadow;
The air drops with songs that the merry birds sing.
The sunshine has won, in the battle with shadow,
And she’s dressed the glad earth with robes of the spring.
The bee leaves his hive for the field of red clover
And the vale where the daisies bloom white as the snow,
And a mantle of warm yellow sunshine hangs over
The calm little pond, where the pale lillies grow.
In the woodland beyond it, a thousand gay voices
Are singing in chorus some jubilant air.
The bird and the bee and all nature rejoices,
The world is so bright, and the earth is so fair.
I am glad as a child, in this beautiful weather;
I have tossed all my burdens and trials away;
My heart is as light – yes, as light as a feather; -
I am care-free, and careless, and happy to-day.
Can it be there approaches a dark, dreary to-morrow?
Can shadows e’er fall on this beautiful earth?
Ah! To-day is my own! No forebodings of sorrow
Shall darken my skies, or shall dampen my mirth.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Hearing A Grey Shrike Thrush Singing In The Rain
The grey thrush sing on branch of mountain gray
At twilight of a most Unspring like day
On October evening made damp by drizzling rain
And grey bird sing his same song o'er again.
And freshening wind has breath of winter sting
Seems more like Winter now than middle Spring
And wind driven rain fall from the darkening sky
And still the grey thrush pipes his notes of joy.
I wonder why he sing so merrily
On low down branch of noble gray gum tree
Could it be that he can tell from inner eye
That tomorrow's weather will be warm and dry?
Or could he sing that in some nearby tree
His wife on nest shelter new family?
And he tell his neighbours this my territory
And I'm now a dad 'oh lucky happy me'.
And why he sing should it matter anyway
His song at close of wet October day?
The weather dreary for the time of year
But grey thrush's notes sweet music to my ears.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Hearing A Grey Shrike Thrush
The grey shrike thrush on branch of mountain gray
At twilight of a most Unspring like day
On October eve made damp by drizzling rain
And grey bird sing his same song o'er again
And freshening wind has breath of winter sting
Seems more like Winter now than middle Spring
And wind driven rain fall from the darkening sky
And still the gray thrush pipes his notes of joy.
I wonder why he sing so merrily
On low down branch of noble gray gum tree
Could it be that he can tell from inner eye
That tomorrow's weather will be warm and dry? .
Or could he sing that in some nearby tree
His wife on nest shelter new family
And he tell his neighbours this my territory
And I'm now a dad 'oh lucky happy me'? .
And why he sing should it matter anyway
His song at close of wet October day
The weather dreary for the time of year
But grey thrush's notes sweet music to the ear.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sweetly Sings the Thrush
Sweetly sings the thrush
among the meadows fair.
All whose senses hear her
wish to wander there.
To be in tune with her fair voice
brings joy into your heart.
She sings of love for what she sees
of which you are a part.
Sweetly sings the thrush
before the night has come.
All the creatures of the day
are saddened when she's done.
To hear the silence of the night
you must wait for another ‘morrow.
For her song that permeates the air
to take away your sorrow.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Verdant Lands of Spring
(from the title of an NLP anthology) Spring rains begin, to refresh the land,
An' beautiful spring flowers begin, to make their stand,
Orange pink blue yellow and every pretty color,
Decorating the hillsides, in a truly rich splendor,
Making their appearance, after cold winter nights,
And the cold wind that to me, seemed really a fright,
Yet now everywhere, it's turning luscious green,
An' beautiful spring birds, will soon be seen,
Now sweet peas blue bonnet flowers an' daffodils,
Are coloring an' dotting the meadows an' hills,
An' springtime can last as long as it wills,
An' I'll never complain o' the fresh spring rains,
That refresh an' green up, the lovely hills an' plains,
An' meadows for sheep an' cattle an' stallions alike,
An' am getting myself ready, for a long fiel' hike,
An' there will be calves an' lambs, an' colts very soon,
And plenty of grass and plenty of room,
As the verdant lands of spring, burst into bloom.
poem by George Kick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
July
I
Blue July, bright July,
Month of storms and gorgeous blue;
Violet lightnings o'er thy sky,
Heavy falls of drenching dew;
Summer crown! o'er glen and glade
Shrinking hyacinths in their shade;
I welcome thee with all thy pride,
I love thee like an Eastern bride.
Though all the singing days are done
As in those climes that clasp the sun;
Though the cuckoo in his throat
Leaves to the dove his last twin note;
Come to me with thy lustrous eye,
Golden-dawning oriently,
Come with all thy shining blooms,
Thy rich red rose and rolling glooms.
Though the cuckoo doth but sing 'cuk, cuk,'
And the dove alone doth coo;
Though the cushat spins her coo-r-roo, r-r-roo -
To the cuckoo's halting 'cuk.'
II
Sweet July, warm July!
Month when mosses near the stream,
Soft green mosses thick and shy,
Are a rapture and a dream.
Summer Queen! whose foot the fern
Fades beneath while chestnuts burn;
I welcome thee with thy fierce love,
Gloom below and gleam above.
Though all the forest trees hang dumb,
With dense leafiness o'ercome;
Though the nightingale and thrush,
Pipe not from the bough or bush;
Come to me with thy lustrous eye,
Azure-melting westerly,
The raptures of thy face unfold,
And welcome in thy robes of gold!
Tho' the nightingale broods-'sweet-chuck-sweet' -
And the ouzel flutes so chill,
Tho' the throstle gives but one shrilly trill
To the nightingale's 'sweet-sweet.'
poem by George Meredith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Birds of Spring
Birds of spring they
bring on so many things
sounds they send
to each other,
that only they
can understand
in their sweet
cheerful harmony.
Sweet smell in
the air this
beautiful april day
listening to these creatures.
Taking in the warmth
of the sun that
is so overdue, blue
skies beauty to the eye.
Birds in flight
from one tree
to the other, getting
ready to produce life.
Cool breezes this
day so fine to hear
birds of spring echoing
music to my ear.
Birds of spring
to many to mention you all,
Robbins, Wrens and Cardinals
or a few I see, oh so beautiful.
To hear their chirping
wondering what they're saying
at this moment
will sit here for awhile.
Sounds this day
so relaxing is it
to listen to these
birds of spring.
wrote 4-3-07