Nature rarer uses yellow
Than another hue;
Saves she all of that for sunsets, —
Prodigal of blue,
Spending scarlet like a woman,
Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly,
Like a lover's words.
—Emily Dickinson, “Nature rarer uses yellow”
I know a place where the sun is like gold,
And the cherry blooms burst with snow,
And down underneath is the loveliest nook,
Where the four-leaf clovers grow.
One leaf is for hope, and one is for faith,
And one is for love, you know,
And God put another in for luck—
If you search, you will find where they grow.
But you must have hope, and you must have faith,
You must love and be strong—and so—
If you work, if you wait, you will find the place
Where the four-leaf clovers grow.
—Ella Higginson, “Four-Leaf Clover”
"Nature" is what we see—
The Hill—the Afternoon—
Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee—
Nay—Nature is Heaven—
Nature is what we hear—
The Bobolink—the Sea—
Thunder—the Cricket—
Nay—Nature is Harmony—
Nature is what we know—
Yet have no art to say—
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.
—Emily Dickinson, "Nature is what we see” (no.668)
Lazarus dead, rise up: for you the dove's obeying
The voice of light within the water's utmost crown
Change all the drops to glory. In their cloud delaying,
Pity at last the rich, consumed by their renown.
A winding-sheet has veiled the silence of love's glory,
Earth purified by love, no life not full of light;
Sleep in the sepulchre, believe that ancient story,
That ancient sun believe, on Moses' tablets raying,
Yet see these petals breaking near the source, and white
Roses on thorny stems, and white acacia swaying
Where glinting birds alight above the ringing cup.
Crumble this crust of birth to throw to ring-doves playing.
Rise through the waking Earth; Lazarus dead, rise up.
—Vernon Watkins, from "Cantata for the Waking of Lazarus"
***
Blessed Easter Greetings from all of us at Steinerbooks!
With gratitude for your support and attention, and warmest of wishes,
—John Scott
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;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. – Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.
—Gerard Manley Hopkins, “Spring”
I know a place where the sun is like gold,
And the cherry blooms burst with snow,
And down underneath is the loveliest nook,
Where the four-leaf clovers grow.
One leaf is for hope, and one is for faith,
And one is for love, you know,
And God put another in for luck—
If you search, you will find where they grow.
But you must have hope, and you must have faith,
You must love and be strong—and so—
If you work, if you wait, you will find the place
Where the four-leaf clovers grow.
—Ella Higginson, “Four-Leaf Clover”
© SteinerBooks 2024