Early Spring
Once more the Heavenly
Makes all things new,
And domes the red-plowed
With loving blue;
The blackbirds have their wills,
The throstles too.
Opens a door in Heaven;
From skies of glassA Jacob's ladder
On greening grass,
And o'er the
Young angels pass.
Before them fleets the shower,
And burst the buds,
And shine the level lands,
And flash the floods;
The stars are from their
Flung through the woods,
The woods with living
How softly fanned,
Light airs from where the deep,
All down the sand,
Is breathing in his sleep,
Heard by the land.
O, follow, leaping blood,
The season's lure!
O heart, look down and up,
Serene, secure,
Warm as the crocus cup,
Like snow-drops, pure!
Past,
Future glimpse and
Through some slight spell,
A gleam from yonder vale,
Some far blue fell;
And sympathies, how frail,
In sound and smell!
Till at thy chuckled note,
Thou twinkling bird,
The fairy fancies range,
And, lightly stirred,
Ring little bells of
From word to word.
For now the Heavenly
Makes all things new,
And thaws the cold, and
The flower with dew;
The blackbirds have their wills,
The poets too.
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Other author posts
The Brook
I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley By thirty hills I hurry down,
CXV Spring
Now fades the last long streak of snow, Now burgeons every maze of About the flowering squares, and thick By ashen roots the violets blow Now rings the woodland loud and long,
Maud
Come into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, Night, has flown, Come into the garden,
Locksley Hall
Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 't is early morn: Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn. 'T is the place, and all around it, as of old, the curlews call, Dreary gleams about the moorland flyin...
