Quote:
Originally Posted by Blueflare
Warmth and sunshine has the awful neighbours outside, where their noises bother me more. Curse you, spring.
On the bright side I had quite a nice little walk this afternoon.
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You reminded me of my favorite spring poem, Blueflare.
Posting a little early this year:
Spring
By Edna St. Vincent Millay 1892–1950
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.