April 20, 2006

• April is Poetry Month!

  This poem’s length will tempt many to skip it.  But it truly is worth the time and contemplation. It captures the emotional cyles of life and the renewal that “spring” seasons of life bring. What do you think of it?

  The Flower   

  How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean
  Are They returns! even as the flowers in Spring
  To which, besides their own demean,
  The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring;
     Grief melts away
     Like snow in May,
  As if there were no such cold thing.

  Who would have thought my shriveled heart
  Could have recovered greenness? It was gone
  Quite underground; as flowers depart
  To see their mother-root, when they have blown,
     Where they together
     All the hard weather
  Dead to the world, keep house unknown.

  And now in age I bud again,
  After so many deaths I live and write;
  I once more smell the dew and the rain,
  And relish versing: O, my only Light,
     It cannot be
     That I am he
  On whom they tempests fell all night.

  George Herbert
  

  • 6:40 pm
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