Wednesday, 8 May 2013

Spring Greens ...

Green rain 

Into the scented woods we'll go 
And see the blackthorn swim in snow. 
High above, in the budding leaves, 
A brooding dove awakes and grieves; 
The glades with mingled music stir, 
And wildly laughs the woodpecker. 
When blackthorn petals pearl the breeze, 
There are the twisted hawthorn trees 
Thick-set with buds, as clear and pale 
As golden water or green hail-- 
As if a storm of rain had stood 
Enchanted in the thorny wood, 
And, hearing fairy voices call, 
Hung poised, forgetting how to fall 

Mary Webb, (25 March 1881 – 8 October 1927)

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