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.
—Gerard Manley Hopkins
Spring sprung rhythm
Nothing's as welcome as spring after a rough winter
we are still waiting watching potholes swallow wheels of cars
bumping thumping loud the sound the grind and thrash
Where is all the juice and joy—dirt rise up!
we long for mudslush rush of river still glazed over beneath skies the soft grey
like daze of pussywillows: christ lord, the monocromatic is monotonous
this is an invocation
bring on the green the glory the dramatic entrance of spring
on the back of the nuthatch
spring take wing!