To K.M.D.
In the buds, before they burst,
Leaves and flowers are moulded;
Closely pressed they lie at first,
Exquisitely folded.
Though no hope of change they felt,
Folded hard together,
Soon their sap begins to melt
In the warmer weather.
Till, when Life returns with Spring,
Through them softly stealing,
All their freshness forth they fling,
Hidden forms revealing. [606]
Who can fold those flowers again,
In the way he found them?
Or those spreading leaves restrain,
In the buds that bound them?
Trust me, Spring is very near,
All the buds are swelling;
All the glory of the year
In those buds is dwelling.
What the opened buds reveal
Tells us—Life is flowing;
What the buds, still shut, conceal,
We shall end in knowing.
Long I lingered in the bud
Doubting of the season,
Winter's cold had chilled my blood-—
I was ripe for treason.
Now no more I doubt or wait,
All my fears are vanished,
Summer’s coming, dear, though late,
Fogs and frosts are banished.
poem by James Clerk Maxwell
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Autumn Falling Leaves
When all have been and gone away,
Like leaves from green to amber orange,
Falling down and to decay,
Is the time for all in nature to fall,
And the leaves on the trees show it all,
Autumn and its falls of fall,
Where all the branches have dropped their leaves,
All have gone except the evergreens,
Showing signs to us that live among,
Four seasons weather,
Where Autumn is,
Just like in life,
When full circle of life is known,
A start in spring where buds appear,
Then in summer full bloom trees will be,
Hence, fall shows all,
When nature falls,
Begining another season,
Winter and chill tempetures,
Where nature decays,
And leaves do fall,
To generate again,
Renewing its life,
Come spring again,
Untill then,
Autumn sheads its leaves of blossom and blooms,
And soon again autumn begins,
From new to old,
And then old to new,
Buds in spring and leaves of green,
Showing birth from what did decayed,
And brought forth from,
What was bear on the trees,
From where beneath was where once,
Those Autumn falling leaves.
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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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
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Confused
I see buds on my Bradford pear trees.
It's too early for these tiny buds.
I'm afraid they just might freeze.
They were fooled into thinking winter is gone
for we had a few warm days.
I'm afraid they're just hanging on.
One day sunny, the next so cold
I wonder if they're strong enough
to place their buds on hold?
Confused they must be, just like me.
For I can't figure out what I need
a cold drink or some sweet hot tea?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Song (1912)
All suddenly the wind comes soft,
And Spring is here again;
And the hawthorn quickens with buds of green,
A nd my heart with buds of pain.
My heart all Winter lay so numb,
The earth so dead and frore,
That I never thought the Spring would come,
Or my heart wake any more.
But Winter's broken and earth has woken,
And the small birds cry again;
And the hawthorn hedge puts forth its buds,
And my heart puts forth its pain.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1912)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Seasons
Spring, a symbol of rebirth
Starting another season on earth
New buds open to the sun
Now the spring has begun.
Summer once again is here
Sky is wonderful blue and clear
Growths of colour on display
That's a lovely summers day.
Autumn leaves go blowing by
Lifting high up to the sky
Soon they scatter without sound
Gently cascading to the ground.
Winter comes around with branches bare
A spiders web in the suns pale glare
Frost so cold that it burns
Awaiting 'till the spring returns.
Every season a different thing
Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring
Cut the grass, shovel the snow
Or bake in the sun 'till you glow.
© Hazel 2010
poem by Hazel Connelly
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A Song Of A Spring-Time
TOO rash, sweet birds, spring is not spring;
Sharp winds are fell in east and north;
Late blossoms die for peeping forth; Rains numb, frost blights;
Days are unsunned, storms tear the nights;
The tree-buds wilt before they swell.
Frosts in the buds, and frost-winds fell: And you, you sing.
But let no song be sweet in spring;
Spring is but hope for after-time,
And what is hope but spring-tide rime? But blights, but rain?
Spring wanes unsunned, and sunless wane
The hopes false spring-tide bore to die.
Spring's answer is the March wind's sigh: And you, you sing.
poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Winter Daffodils
January, and the daffodils are showing their heads;
Pushing their way up from their deep, wintry bed.
At the sight of them, I can't help, but be amazed.
With them, the grassy bank will soon be ablaze.
Daffodils in January, I have never before known;
Their heads, in winter, are never normally shown.
They will soon brighten up these dark, winter days;
Adding a splash of colour to the browns and greys.
To my day, they add some much needed cheer;
I'm reminded that spring, once again, draws near.
Daffodils are amongst my very favourite flowers;
To cheer people up, they possess a special power.
Safe in their buds, the precious petals are protected;
In the winter air, a slight chill can still be detected.
In only a few weeks, their buds will be ready to burst,
And, by the sun and rain, the flowers will be nursed.
The flowers will grow up so very tall and strong,
And, together, they will create such a merry throng.
Their presence is bound to attract much attention;
Their stunning natural beauty, many will mention.
To see their finished form, I simply can not wait;
A breathtaking sight, the daffodils will soon create.
That they do not last very long, it is a great shame;
They will wilt and die, like an extinguished flame.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Summer's Yearnings
Summer's eyes look me for heat and flowers
succeeding the spring buds with which adorned her
I am cast as Spring Calling
buds my Siren Flowers
I rose
inside her
flower petal Springings
because I
heat from inside
lying down with her Summer Fevered Longings.
Her roses bloom from my Spring Pollinations;
I give her Summer Glory
and and receives
all my Spring
Offerings.
'What good it be
dressed up in Summer Light' you say
'in Summer Jasmine Perfumes
if you do not arrive each time
to kiss me in my feverish night? '
'What sates sweet summer lips' longings
without your spring kisses joining
kisses which seal our souls
In unspoken understandings;
lips which kiss and hold in the secret night
hearts pounding
melding souls
swept up in destiny's yearnings
you offering a wet mouth
I a crimson cheek quivering
we two lost in Shudderings Desire
which press us two together
two on two
making then between us
Love's Single Season.
because lovers
make things
previously apart
into One
and
Discrete Time
fades into
into
Summer's Eternities.'
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Her Eye Colors
spring
lush foliage
buds of flowers
tiny leaves
sprouting from the
twigs
in Hongkong
where there is no
space for gardens
she draws spring
in the colors
of her eyes
shades of green
and pink and
red and
blue for the flowers
the clouds
the horizon
the sun
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When Aloofness Crackle in Silence
When aloofness crackle in the silence
as if you are alone on this earth
and only have the stars, sun and moon
as your companions,
standing alone in the seasons of life,
with golden acorn leaves falling at your feet,
when the year starts to turn
with winter sneaking in silently
and later overwhelming,
always a new spring comes
with buds appearing astoundingly,
there is again the heat of summer
when that season comes to its fullness.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Rose-Bush
There was a rose-bush in a garden growing,
Its tender leaves unfolding day by day;
The sun looked-on, and his down-going
Left it amid the starlit dusk of nights of May.
The dew-drop came and kissed it in the gloaming;
It gathered sweetness in the morning hours;
The bee beheld it as he went aroaming,
And thought, 'What honey will be hidden in its flowers!'
The light grew richer and the days grew long;
The May-time deepened into June;
The air was laden with the robin's song,
The light wind touched the leaves and set them atune.
And now a tiny bud appeared, and then another--
Bright promises of radiant flowers;
The breezes, whispering, told it to each other,
The rose-bush heard them in the gladsome hours.
New Hope awoke and thrilled in all it veins;
Life is so sweet that culminates in flowers!
It smiled and grew in misty summer rains,
And caught the freshness of the evening showers.
And oft the gardener came and stood beside;
He tended it alway with zealous care,
Watching lest any evil should betide,
Or blight creep o'er the leaves that grew so fair.
He crushed the buds and dropped them on the ground;
The rose-bush felt a chill in every vein;
It drooped, as if to hide each bitter wound--
This strange experience was its earliest thought of pain.
'Poor little plant,' the gardener thought,
Thou art too young, too young to know
That few buds unto flowers are brought,--
It is by pruning thou must grow.'
And still the summer smiled and shoned,
And other roses bloomed and died.
'Mine would more beauteously have blown,'
The little rose-bush sadly sighed.
Again the gardener sought his flowers,
Where he had watched his treasures blow:
The autumn blast has swept the bowers,
The winds and storms has laid them low!
Though sad of heart, the rose-bush still was green;
It lifted up its drooping head;
'The life that would have filled the buds may still be seen,
'Tis folded in its heart,' he said.
He stooped and took it from the ground
All trembling with its vague alarms,
And quick and tenderly he wrapped it round,
And kindly bore it in his arms.
And now where soft the sunshine flows,
Within a fair, immortal bower,
In all its fragrant beauty blooms the rose,
Its every bud grown into perfect flower.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Spring has broken
Spring has broken!
Spring has broken!
Spring has broken!
I can feel it in the air,
I can feel it within me,
The rays of morning sun is warming,
The cold freezing world is now behind,
And the burst of renewals are everywhere seen,
The new buds are peeping,
And the cherry blossoms will soon be bursting,
Leave this sadness behind and breath the freshness in.
See again the birds are chirping,
and the little playful squirrels are jumping.
Spring has broken!
Spring has broken!
Spring has broken!
Again this renewal of life must begin.
poem by Spiritual Seeker
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Crocus Buds
crocus buds burst forth
peep and poke through dunes of white
winter bows to spring
when the sun begins to shine again
life's vital truths made clear at road's end
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
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Psyche
I SAW a worm, with many a fold;
It spun itself a sliken tomb;
And there in winter time enrolled,
It heeded not the cold or gloom.
Within a small, snug nook it lay,
Nor snow nor sleet could reach it there,
Nor wind was felt in gusty day,
Nor biting cold of frosty air.
Spring comes with bursting buds and grass,
Around him stirs a warmer breeze;
The chirping insects by him pass,
His hiding place not yet he leaves.
But summer came; its fervid breath
Was felt within the sleeper's cell;
And, waking from his sleep of death,
I saw him crawl from out his shell
Slow and with pain he first moved on,
And of the day he seemed to be;
A day passed by; the worm was gone,
It soared on golden pinions free!
poem by Jones Very
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Petals & Things
It’s my very favorite time of year
Yes it’s spring, oh glorious spring
The world is alive with changes
Like delightful petals and things
Precious tiny leaves peek out
All along the branches
Buds are getting braver now
Flowers about to take chances
Color is fresh and new again
The fragrance wafts in the air
Gives us hope for tomorrow for
There is not so many cares
For nature is filling in the voids
Without a single string
Let’s enjoy what spring gives us
Like wonderful petals and things!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Indiscretion
RED tulip-buds last night caressed
The sacred ivory of her breast.
She met me, eager to divine
What gold-heart bud of hope was mine.
Nor eyes nor lips were strong to part
The close-curled petals round my heart;
The joy I knew no monarch knows,
Yet not a petal would unclose.
But, ah!--the tulip-buds, unwise,
Warmed with the sunshine of her eyes,
And by her soft breath glorified
Went mad with love and opened wide.
She saw their hearts, all golden-gay,
Laughed, frowned, and flung the flowers away.
Poor flowers, in Heaven as you were,
Why did you show your hearts to her?
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Almost Spring
As winter turns the corner
And spring is on the way
I wait with mounting happiness
To see what comes today.
I also love the cold days
With frost upon the sill
But something special happens
Once winter’s had its fill.
The crocus buds are swollen
The daffodils sprout so tall
Something special happens
As spring time makes its call.
So get ready for the changes
That happens none too soon
When spring time rounds that corner
And flowers start to bloom!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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A Morning In Late June
In the cold depths of Winter the grey butcherbird sing
And only nine weeks or thereabouts till the first breath of Spring
Five days ago of daylight hours the year's shortest day
And time it keeps ticking and ticking away.
The drake in the pond performs his courtship display
As he swims by his mate he nods his head her way
And he quacks to tell others she belongs to me
He will be the father of her family.
The buds on the camellias beginning to sprout
In the coldest of Winter their blooms will be out
They will be cloaked in flowers by the end of July
When the chill winds of Winter blow across the sky.
A morning in late June a chill in the breeze
And the rainbow lorikeets chirp on the flowering gum trees
As with their tongues they sip nectar from the pink gum flowers
Amongst leaves rather wet from recent heavy showers.
The sky clouded over and a chill in the wind
And the first month of Winter is close to an end
And old father time he keeps ticking away
And Spring is approaching with each passing day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Blossoming
Tight new buds are bursting forth,
to dress the nude lands around.
Shrubs and trees are awakened,
above the now warming ground.
Each growing gently stronger,
as the spring days slip on by.
Blossoming with such merit,
whilst they’re smiling at the sky.
Their colours have great richness,
they glow in the strong sunshine.
And hearts are so uplifted,
when all the lush hues combine.
Truly glorious visions,
as fresh shoots race to achieve.
They welcome in the summer,
for sheer beauty they do weave.
Bursting forth are new tight buds,
this noble earth to embrace.
And wondrous plants and flowers,
will fashion it with their grace.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Pre Spring
Pre Spring
It had stopped raining I went for a walk, the sun came for a visit and
it got hot. Took my coat off, marched on till the sun had had enough
and rolled back home. The almond tree, by the lane, looked puny
spindly twigs for branches, and grey bark. Ghostlike if it hadn’t been
so pathetically ugly. Looked closer and saw a pair of pink buds on its
a twig. Now the tree was beautiful and I fretted about the chill in
the wind and if frost comes in the night, will it snuff out this new life?
I took pictures of the buds, but the photos were a bit blurred and
colours not so bright as those I saw with naked eyes, yeah, like my
eyes should be undressed most of the time, or hidden behind dark
sunglasses. In about three weeks, if all goes well, my bare, nutty tree
will be covered in pink flowers and look lovely. Elderly hearts will
feel young again and beat too hard. In the vale, where I live, there are
many funerals in March.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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