The sunshine bathes in clouds of many hues And mornings feet are gemmed with early dews Warm Daffodils about the garden beds Peep thro their pale slim leaves their golden heads Sweet earthly suns of spring—the Gosling broods In coats of sunny green about the road Waddle in extacy—and in rich moods The old hen leads her flickering chicks abroad Oft scuttling neath her wings to see the kite Hang wavering o'er them in the springs blue light The sparrows round their new nests chirp with glee And sweet the Robin springs young luxury shares Tuteling its song in feathery Gooseberry tree While watching worms the Gardeners spade unbears
Claudia, glad you enjoy(ed). This post's title was, of course, a reminiscence of the philosophical discourse or, as Andrew would put it, the lunacy we are enjoying these days at Beag air Bheag. There's, by the way, no end in sight. Finally, you are right. The photo's taken in Seanhenge; already in April, though. Meanwhile it looks quite different. And: it's Forest Bulb, indeed.
Ah, Calum, your one word is chosen beautifully. Thank you. Next week, I do hope to find a bit more leisure for several tiny trips to Scotland, visiting - amongst others - Clumsy's exhibition.
If only a worm could sing maybe I would write the ode that could let him grow a wing to fly over the abode of birds, cosy and dreaming of whom they will be eating.
Claudia, no need to apologize. Like any earthworm, dead poets don't complain. :)
Jams, Thank you; it certainly is. Well, and as for the past fortnight it was slightly cold, it gives one at least an idea of how nice'n'warm spring can be.
Lady Janice, your delight is my pleasure. It's time that spring-temperatures spring a bit here, too. Alas, wish the weather-frogs were right, and from Wednesdays on it became warmer.
A glorious poem rich with life. Though I feel a bit sorry for the worms...:)
ReplyDeleteMagnificent garden! Is this yours, Sean? I seem to recognise Forest Bulb, on the top, at right.
John Clare is delightful. Thanks for the link.
I cannot come near to matching Claudia's words and so my one word, MAGIC!
ReplyDeleteClaudia,
ReplyDeleteglad you enjoy(ed).
This post's title was, of course, a reminiscence of the philosophical discourse or, as Andrew would put it, the lunacy we are enjoying these days at Beag air Bheag.
There's, by the way, no end in sight.
Finally, you are right. The photo's taken in Seanhenge; already in April, though. Meanwhile it looks quite different.
And: it's Forest Bulb, indeed.
Ah, Calum,
ReplyDeleteyour one word is chosen beautifully. Thank you.
Next week, I do hope to find a bit more leisure for several tiny trips to Scotland, visiting - amongst others - Clumsy's exhibition.
Lovely, and a perfect description of idyllic spring.
ReplyDeleteIf only a worm could sing
ReplyDeletemaybe I would write the ode
that could let him grow a wing
to fly over the abode
of birds, cosy and dreaming
of whom they will be eating.
With apologies to John Clare.
Ah now that is utter bliss. A fine choice of photo and poetry Sean
ReplyDeleteKnatolee,
ReplyDeleteglad you enjoyed.
And: Congratulations!
Claudia,
no need to apologize. Like any earthworm, dead poets don't complain. :)
Jams,
Thank you; it certainly is.
Well, and as for the past fortnight it was slightly cold, it gives one at least an idea of how nice'n'warm spring can be.
Nothing soothes the soul like the return of spring after a long grueling winter such as was had here.
ReplyDeleteDelightful to read Sir Sean.
Lady Janice,
ReplyDeleteyour delight is my pleasure.
It's time that spring-temperatures spring a bit here, too.
Alas, wish the weather-frogs were right, and from Wednesdays on it became warmer.