|"I sing of brooks, of blossoms...."|
It's blossom-time in Seattle. I'll just let the 17th-Century poet Robert Herrick speak for me this week.
|The Argument of His Book|
| by Robert Herrick|
I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers,
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers.
I sing of Maypoles, hock carts, wassails, wakes,
Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes.
I write of youth, of love, and have access
By these to sing of cleanly wantonness.
I sing of dews, of rains, and, piece by piece,
Of balm, of oil, of spice, and ambergris.
I sing of times trans-shifting, and I write
How roses first came red and lilies white.
I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing
The court of Mab and of the fairy king.
I write of hell; I sing (and ever shall)
Of heaven, and hope to have it after all.
Poetry Friday is being hosted this week by Diane Mayr at Random Noodling. Head over there to see what other people have posted.
|"I sing of Maypoles, hock carts, wassails, wakes...."|