Piercing the sod

 

Good old Christina Rossetti.  Here's a heart-lifting poem from her:

Spring

By Christina Rossetti

Frost-locked all the winter, 

Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, 

What shall make their sap ascend 

That they may put forth shoots? 

Tips of tender green, 

Leaf, or blade, or sheath; 

Telling of the hidden life 

That breaks forth underneath, 

Life nursed in its grave by Death. 

 

Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly, 

Drips the soaking rain, 

By fits looks down the waking sun: 

Young grass springs on the plain; 

Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees; 

Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, 

Swollen with sap put forth their shoots; 

Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane; 

Birds sing and pair again.

 

There is no time like Spring, 

When life’s alive in everything, 

Before new nestlings sing, 

Before cleft swallows speed their journey back 

Along the trackless track – 

God guides their wing, 

He spreads their table that they nothing lack, – 

Before the daisy grows a common flower 

Before the sun has power 

To scorch the world up in his noontide hour. 

 

There is no time like Spring, 

Like Spring that passes by; 

There is no life like Spring-life born to die, 

Piercing the sod, 

Clothing the uncouth clod, 

Hatched in the nest, 

Fledged on the windy bough, 

Strong on the wing: 

There is no time like Spring that passes by, 

Now newly born, and now 

Hastening to die.

 

 

 art by Teresa Tanner