Poetry Wednesday: First Flowers
Yellow comes first, aspiring from the rot,
And purple afterwards divides the plot,
A composition pent up man forgot.
Skeins of the storm through blue winds intertwined,
For their rapport some disincarnate mind,
Some thought before the world, might have divined:
What eye unopened could command the skill
First to conceive their concord, then to will
The rhododendron and the daffodil.
A four-year’s gaze that draws the calyx near
Discovers in the anther’s dusty sphere
A force to wonder at, a form to fear.
Remember when the flowers with dew are glossed
That every gaze inflicts its separate cost,
That every bloom is reveled in, then lost.
It is a question whether it were best
To abjure the gorgeous spring, or linger, blest,
To stare a little while before we rest.
In April I have started from a spell
To search for crocus growing where I dwell -
Breathless, panting, for what I could not tell.