The Fresh Fields

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Now Spring returns with leaf and blade,
Some seek the garden, some the glade;
And all to Nature turn, but I
to the fresh fields of Poetry.

Sweet are the first green leaves, and sweet
The scents, and genial the first heat;
And backed by pine or cypress glooms
How rich the rhododendron blooms!

Yet rich or sweet as these appear,
They were as wonderful last year;
And all as then move without pause
Through the same course by the same laws.

The flowers I meet in song are new;
None shall forecast their shape or hue;
To none of your dull round belong
The seasons that unfold in song.

The trees that sung in verse I find
Are each its own, an unknown, kind;
But best in all, tree, season, flower,
Is, there’s no limit to their power.
~Archibald Young Campbell from “Spring and Poetry”

 

These intricate blooms,
beautiful as they are,
return unchanged year after year~
a proliferation of brilliant color.

They explode like fireworks
over fields and hills,
flash, flourish, fade
and are gone.

Yet words of the poet bud and swell in slow motion,
a blossoming blend that linger longingly,
ever changing, transforming
the landscape of heart and mind.

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2 thoughts on “The Fresh Fields

  1. Yes, their beauty is stunning, each in its own individual array of the Gardner’s handiwork.
    But, as you so wisely point out, all is fleeting…
    A foretaste (a little ‘tease’) of the everlasting beauty that awaits us when our
    Journey here in our temporary home ends and we encounter the beauty and
    the joy that will be our eternal Spring.

    Like

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