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| "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.
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| "I sing of Maypoles, hock carts, wassails, wakes...." |
