Two poems about spring seem...
Illustration
Two poems about spring seem to capture the sense of transition found in this biblical story. The first is Edna St. Vincent Millay's poem "Spring" which somberly narrates a stagnant, repetitive, harsh life which is only irritatingly punctuated with ephemeral beauty. The second poem by Mark Van Doren is more hospitable to spring. The poetry expresses assurance that spring is the promise fulfilled. Even the thunderous clatter that would overwhelm is but the commencing of its birth pangs.
SPRING
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.
SPRING THUNDER
Listen. The wind is still,
And far away in the night —
See! The uplands fill
With a running light.
Open the doors. It is warm;
And where the sky was clear —
Look! The head of a storm
That marches here!
Come under the trembling hedge —
Fast, although you fumble.
There! Did you hear the edge
of winter crumble?
SPRING
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.
SPRING THUNDER
Listen. The wind is still,
And far away in the night —
See! The uplands fill
With a running light.
Open the doors. It is warm;
And where the sky was clear —
Look! The head of a storm
That marches here!
Come under the trembling hedge —
Fast, although you fumble.
There! Did you hear the edge
of winter crumble?
