Sunday, March 1, 2009

Spring Poetry

April 5th, 1974

The air was soft, the ground still cold.
In the dull pasture where I strolled

Was something I could not believe.
Dead grass appeared to slide and heave,

Though still too frozen-flat to stir,

And rocks to twitch, and all to blur.

What was this rippling of the land?

Was matter getting out of hand

And making free with natural law?

I stopped and blinked, and then I saw

A fact as eerie as a dream,

There was a subtle flood of steam

Moving upon the face of things,

It came from standing pools and springs

And what of snow was still around;

It came of winter's giving ground
So that the freeze was coming out,

As when a set mind, blessed by doubt,
Relaxes into mother-wit.
Flowers, I said, will come of it.

by Richard Wilbur, from New and Collected Poems
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