Catalogue

Catalogue

The snow swirls at the window sills,
The drifts are high,
The pale-gold winter sunlight spills
From a cold sky;
But in my hands I hold a small
And lovely thing:
A nursery catalogue, with all
The light of spring
And summer in it, as I turn
A page and see
Tulips, and scarlet poppies burn
Their fires for me.

Across the winter whiteness drifts
The misty red
Of peonies, and blue smoke lifts
From a larkspur bed.
I warm my heart at a crimson rose;
These berries fee
My hunger, and an apple glows
To meet my need.

Swirl at my window, snow, and see
If you can imprison me!

Grace N. Crowell

From My Mother's Poetry Notebook

I can see my mother pouring over her seed and bulb catalogues.  My mother could grow anything; she had such a green thumb!  She also drew plans/ maps for her flower and vegetable gardens.  They were a lot of work, but I believe they gave her great joy.  My heart is gladdened to think of my mother, especially in her planning for growing things.

Sharing

Sharing

Ah, you will take the high path,
And I will take the low,
Thus missing none of beauty
As thro' this life we go.

And you will watch a white cloud,
And I will watch a star,
To find alluring jewels
That are hidden near or far.

Ah, we will watch for loveliness
And see the glorious Spring
Salute the year whose beauty is
An anthem that we sing.

Ah, you will watch the sunset
And I the clouds so fair,
Thus double joys will greet us
As we kneel to God in prayer.

You will look for birds and trees
While I will look for flowers,
And in the glowering twilight
We will share the happy hours.

~ Ursula Miller

From my mother's poetry notebook

April Music

April Music

Thy lyric sound of laughter
Fills all the April hills.
The joy song of the crocus,
Thy mirth of daffodils --

They ring their golden changes
Through all the azure vales;
The sunny cowslips answer
Athwart the reedy swales.

Far down the woodland aisleways
The trillium's voice is heard;
The little wavering windflowers
Join in with jocund word.

The white cry of the dogwood
Mounts up against the sky;
The breath of violet music
Upon the breeze goes by.

Give me to hear, O April,
These choristers of thine
Calling across the distance
Serene and hyaline,

To clear my clouded vision,
Bedimmed and dulled so long,
And heal my aching spirit
With fragrance that is song!

-- Clinton Scollard

From my mother's poetry notebook

Temptation

Temptation

With downcast eyes go to work today,
Or you'll see the trees in their spring array.
Turn your cheek away from the teasing sun,
Think of yesterday's work you left undone;
Ignore the wind's whisper of distant miles,
Answer the call of your desk and files;
You sought a career -- now forget you're alive,
And enjoy your cage from eight to five.

~ Nancy Gibbons

From my mother's poetry notebook

The Spearhead Of The Spring

The Spearhead Of The Spring

In all this winter-weary world
     What lifts the heart so high
As the sound of wild geese flying north
     Against a starlit sky?

A warm south wind -- a cloudless night --
     And suddenly far and near,
The beat of wings for Canada
     Across a hemisphere!

Brave as a shower of bugle notes
     You hear their questing call --
And the leader's answer, bold and deep,
     Ringing over all!

Northward swinging through the night,
     Flying wing to wing,
A thousand miles they launch their flight --
     The Spearhead of the Spring!

~ Douglas Cary Wendell

From my mother's poetry notebook