Sunday, March 11, 2007
A Poem for Spring
Among my collection of vintage books is one very tiny one from 1844 entitled The Bouquet of Flowers. I am so very anxious for Spring to arrive! I long to see the little crocus bloom and watch the birds building their nests. In my pondering, I pulled this little book out today and thumbed through it's pages. In the introduction, there is the loveliest poem and I thought you might enjoy it with me.
Are not flowers the earliest gift of love?
Do they not, mutely eloquent, oft speak
For absent or for trembling hearts, and bear
Kisses and sighs on their perfumed lips,
And worlds of thoughts and fancies in their tears,
Touched by the rainbow's dyes? Have ye ne'er
Soe token flower -- and early rose -- a bunch
Of young Spring's first and sweetest violets,
And given into yours by hands so dear,
That all flowers seemed grown holier from that time?
Have you ne'er hoarded such a simple gift,
Ay, through long years, e'en when each shrunken
Bore not a semblance to the thing it was,
And the soft fragrance, that had once been there,
Had changed from sweet to noisome, -- and e'en
For very fondness, could not fling away
Those dim and faded records of the past,
But laid the frail things in their wonted place,
To gaze, and dream, and weep upon again?
(by L.A. Twamler)
Til Spring starts popping up all over. . . . . .Judi