I declare - spring rushes in on the rain-clouds, bursts into view in the branches, and it all leaves me positively breathless! It's nice to know I'm not the only one. Poets for centuries have had that same feeling of exhilaration. Fortunately for all of us, they have taken pen in hand to record their colt-rolling-on-the-hills welcome to spring that all of us feel, but not all of us can express so grandly! Here are a few of my favorites to share with your students today! Feel free to print off the pictures and put them around on the walls...especially if your window still reveals more winter than budding blossoms!
Dear March - Come in!
Emily Dickinson, 1830 - 1886
Dear March - Come in -
How glad I am -
I hoped for you before -
Put down your Hat -
You must have walked -
How out of Breath you are -
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest -
Did you leave Nature well -
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me -
I have so much to tell -
I got your Letter, and the Birds -
The Maples never knew that you were coming -
I declare - how Red their Faces grew -
But March, forgive me -
And all those Hills you left for me to Hue -
There was no Purple suitable -
You took it all with you -
Who knocks? That April -
Lock the Door -
I will not be pursued -
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied -
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come
That blame is just as dear as
Praise And Praise as mere as Blame -
Emily Dickinson, 1830 - 1886
Dear March - Come in -
How glad I am -
I hoped for you before -
Put down your Hat -
You must have walked -
How out of Breath you are -
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest -
Did you leave Nature well -
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me -
I have so much to tell -
I got your Letter, and the Birds -
The Maples never knew that you were coming -
I declare - how Red their Faces grew -
But March, forgive me -
And all those Hills you left for me to Hue -
There was no Purple suitable -
You took it all with you -
Who knocks? That April -
Lock the Door -
I will not be pursued -
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied -
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come
That blame is just as dear as
Praise And Praise as mere as Blame -
Spring Storm
William Carlos Williams, 1883 - 1963
The sky has given over
its bitterness.
Out of the dark change
all day long
rain falls and falls
as if it would never end.
Still the snow keeps
its hold on the ground.
But water, water
from a thousand runnels!
It collects swiftly,
dappled with black
cuts a way for itself
through green ice in the gutters.
Drop after drop it falls
from the withered grass-stems
of the overhanging embankment.
William Carlos Williams, 1883 - 1963
The sky has given over
its bitterness.
Out of the dark change
all day long
rain falls and falls
as if it would never end.
Still the snow keeps
its hold on the ground.
But water, water
from a thousand runnels!
It collects swiftly,
dappled with black
cuts a way for itself
through green ice in the gutters.
Drop after drop it falls
from the withered grass-stems
of the overhanging embankment.
Spring (Again)
Michael Ryan
The birds were louder this morning,
raucous, oblivious, tweeting their teensy bird-brains out.
It scared me, until I remembered it’s Spring.
How do they know it? A stupid question.
Thank you, birdies. I had forgotten how promise feels.
Michael Ryan
The birds were louder this morning,
raucous, oblivious, tweeting their teensy bird-brains out.
It scared me, until I remembered it’s Spring.
How do they know it? A stupid question.
Thank you, birdies. I had forgotten how promise feels.
Monadnock in Early Spring
Amy Lowell, 1874 - 1925
Cloud-topped and splendid, dominating all
The little lesser hills which compass thee,
Thou standest, bright with April’s buoyancy,
Yet holding Winter in some shaded wall
Of stern, steep rock; and startled by the call
Of Spring, thy trees flush with expectancy
And cast a cloud of crimson, silently,
Above thy snowy crevices where fall
Pale shriveled oak leaves, while the snow beneath
Melts at their phantom touch. Another year
Is quick with import. Such each year has been.
Unmoved thou watchest all, and all bequeath
Some jewel to thy diadem of power,
Thou pledge of greater majesty unseen.
Oh! There are so many wonderful poems bursting brimful with the exuberance of spring! Robert Louis Stevenson's work, too, is simply full of the love of life, and of spring-fling feelings for flowers, and swinging on swings, and waking to sun-drenched scenes. I could go on for pages, but instead I will leave you with these for now - but I'd love to hear about YOUR favorites in the comments section!
Happy first day of spring!
If your day, like mine, looks more wintry-cloudy than daffodil-y, count this day as a promise of things to come!
Not all rigor is mortis!
Happy first day of spring!
If your day, like mine, looks more wintry-cloudy than daffodil-y, count this day as a promise of things to come!
Not all rigor is mortis!
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