The tall scarlet of crested hensfanfares through hawthorn,struts among verdant twigs plump with the infant year.April is freeing story upon storyfrom a frosted jar. Now that winter’s gales are spentthe air repairs itself, breathesjonquil scent, drenched loam. At moonrise star particles glintin the bent horns of trees,barks of foxes charge the night. Tulips have darkened […]
Daytime an’ nicht,
Sun, wind an’ rain;
The lang, cauld licht
O’ the spring months again.
The road was liker a burn :
/ But the trees in the glen were new in leaf,
/ Ilk bairn I met had…
On the Forfar ‘bus in a morn of spring,
/ A nipping wind and the frost’s sharp sting;
/ And I can’t tell why,…
On Sunday gawky and glaiket,
/ For life no carin’ a preen;
/ On Monday lookin’ forsaket,
/ Wi’ a misty weet in her een;
/ On Tuesday…
It was such a day
of sunshine wall to wall,
of heat haze and the year’s first frogs,
of blue hills stretching yonder.
The dead spake together last night,
/ And one to the other said:
/ …
Outside the window is spring’s long animal, / the diaphanous dragon of sunshine / flowing past.
Three weeks: one field / a deluge / of births and deaths.
Noo the snaw creeps fae the braes
And is gaen:
Noo the trees clap on their claes
Ane be ane
Nothing is so beautiful as Spring –
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing.
I so liked Spring last year
Because you were here; –
The thrushes too –
Because it was these you so liked to hear –
I so liked you.
