Forty feeding like one

I am depressed today because Donald Trump is gloating over his seeming reprieve from the Mueller report, and because he is planning so many life-destroying actions which will benefit the rich and make life so much worse for the poor.

I pray for his conversion and for our country.

In the meantime, though, it is Spring...   and here are two more March poems. This first one is from
William Wordsworth:

"The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one! 
Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The Plowboy is whooping-anon-anon:
There's joy in the mountains;
There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
The rain is over and gone!"

-   William Wordsworth, March

and this one, from Rilke:
 
 

"Harshness vanished. A sudden softness
has replaced the meadows' wintry grey.
Little rivulets of water changed
their singing accents. Tendernesses,

hesitantly, reach toward the earth
from space, and country lanes are showing
these unexpected subtle risings
that find expression in the empty trees."


-  Rainer Marie Rilke, Early Spring