O thou, with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro' the clear windows of the morning; turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
The hills tell each other, and the list'ning
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavillions: issue forth,
And let they holy feet visit our clime.
Come o'er the eastern hill, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.
O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee!
~William Blake To Spring
3 comments:
Wish i'd wrote that~specially the bosom part
Billy Blake was way cool
Is that your yard? Prettily green, which is the preferred color choice of most AOL bloggers, in my experience.
I have (or had...where might THAT have gone?) an illustration by Blake I just swooned over... reaching for a star. Yeah, he's a decent nature poet, too.
see you in the 'space, GF!
dancer-- but slac is MY bf
And may the gods of spring hear this beautiful ode and grand thee a burst of sunshine! C'mon gods, y'all slackin' on the job (apologies to my buddy Slac)!
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