Of warmth, worms and extasy
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
John Clare (1798 - 1864) Home Pictures in May
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.