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The death of winter
On a warm day,
a patch of ice dulls over
like a dead eye,
except that something moves
under and through it,
like the soul—
that bubble of breath—
surrounded by meltwater
and the bluebird’s song.
Poèmes sur le thème : bluebird
Poèmes sur le thème « bluebird » sur Poets.by.
Advice to a Blue-Bird
Who can make a delicate adventure
Of walking on the ground?
Who can make grass-blades
Arcades for pertly careless straying?
You alone, who skim against these leaves,
Turning all desire into light whips
Moulded by your deep blue wing-tips,
You who shrill your unconcern
Into the sternly antique sky.
You to whom all things
Hold an equal kiss of touch.
Mincing, wanton blue-bird,
Grimace at the hoofs of passing men.
You alone can lose yourself
Within a sky, and rob it of its blue!
The March's Promise
When gray clouds break on southern skies
And winds of March begin to blow,
Our fancies run to Summer sighs,
That whisper and delight us so.
For in this stormy month of winds
The first new pulse of life is felt,
When Spring with all her sweets begins
Where Winter's ice and snow have dwelt.
The bluebird carols out his note,
A prelude to the country 'round
Of chimes, a few more days remote,
To which the forest will resound.
The plowman's song, the forest chime.
The upturned sod, the country scene,
Bespeak a resurrection time
In air, sky, and sprouting green.
The Bluebird's Wing
One day I saw the bluebird's wing
Agleam upon a waving sea
Of emerald-coloured timothy.
We walked together--you and I--
We saw the bluebird gliding by;
He came so near--the mad, wild thing--
We almost touched his sapphire wing,
But ere across our path he flew
He rose and vanished in the blue.
To-day I saw the bluebird's wing;
I heard wood-thrushes round me sing;
Wind-blown across the April sky,
Great swelling cloud-sails drifted by;
And on the sky-line's silver sheen
White birches danced in frills of green,
And all the world was mad with spring.