What deep peace whispering
sidle-slides and idles
in the icy breeze,
so fresh, so newborn as the first
of winter, not midwinter's very crown?
Yet autumn must be cleaned out,
Christmas dispersed, and all
the tiresome resolutions pass or fail,
before this deep refreshment take effect.
Today the blazing sun, that candles
all he can, cannot do more than bask the eyes,
nor deep-dazzle gust-whipped skin.
It is the wind that chills us, remakes too;
and through that stinging freshness
spring reaches, long-armed, her messengers,
when snowdrops* ring our tenderness. Oh,
till then, gorse-yolk suffice and so,
kisses never be out of fashion.*
.................................
*There are snowdrops out in parts of UK - but not here, just yet.
*There is a saying : 'When gorse flowers no more, then kisses will be out of fashion.'
YOU ARE READING
Greenclad.
PoetryIvy-jacketed, December oaks on road-borders shock their stark gestures at us now, through sun and sleet, that January will yawn at and February, propping eyelids, will desperately ignore, longing for blossom; and making do with the least of anything...
