Nothing new to report here, other than this: I love springtime.
So, I think, did dear Emily, in her beautiful, melancholy way:
A Light exists in Spring
by Emily Dickinson
A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period-
When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay-
A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.
A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period-
When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay-
A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.
~~~~~~~~~~
Rose Cappelli is hosting the Poetry Friday round-up today. Thank you, Rose!
Photo courtesy of Pixabay.
2 comments:
Spring is NOT my favorite season, especially here in Minnesota. It's muddy, messy, brown, bare. Nope. But I'm glad you love spring, and this poem is lovely. I especially like the "It waits upon the Lawn," stanza. That distance somehow engages me...
Thank you for starting my day with a little Emily Dickinson. I love May - my second most favorite season next to October.
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