by D. H. Lawrence
This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.
And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that’s gone astray, and is lost.
by P. G. Karamesines
Like swallows, each one shapes its path
On the other’s €”two horses, maybe yearlings,
So alike in color and conformation
My eye exchanges them as they run.
It’s what they are together my eye
Singles out: twins of movement.
They stop and box the air between them,
Swinging skulls like stiff-armed fists.
They roll apes’ lips to shake formidable
Teeth and lift themselves one above
The other. Pheasants fly from the strike
Of their hooves. When these two rest,
They stand brown cheek on brown cheek
Following sparks of interest
As through a single pair of eyes.
Then one animal shifts weight and they sheer
Apart, jogging to another ring to dance out
Their joke. Is it love or wit, the orchard’s
Flower fragrance wreathed €˜round their heads,
The cooling evening lights? They are
Supple with each other and have quick parts.
The sinew of their laughter runs down the long grass.
by Emily Dickinson
A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period—
When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.
Then, as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes, and we stay—
A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.
In honor of spring’s arrival, Wilderness Interface Zone will over the next two weeks post poems celebrating the arrival of “the boyhood of the year” (Tennyson).
If you have a favorite poem about spring or one in which spring figures prominently or have written one that fits WIZ’s themes and content, e-mail it to us at email@example.com. Please review our submissions guide before submitting.
*From “A Prayer in Spring” by Robert Frost