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Very Early Spring: Difference between revisions
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imported>Yann New page: {{poem |title = Poems |author = Katherine Mansfield |section = '''Very Early Spring''' |notes = 1923. }} <div class="verse"> <poem> </poem> </div> [[Category:Kathe... |
imported>Yann {{PD-pma|1923}} |
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{{poem | {{TextQuality|75%}}{{poem | ||
|title = [[Poems (Mansfield)|Poems]] | |title = [[Poems (Mansfield)|Poems]] | ||
|author = Katherine Mansfield | |author = Katherine Mansfield | ||
|section = | |section = Very Early Spring | ||
|notes = 1923. | |notes = 1923. | ||
}} | }} | ||
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<div class="verse"> | <div class="verse"> | ||
<poem> | <poem> | ||
The fields are snowbound no longer; | |||
There are little blue lakes and flags of tenderest green. | |||
The snow has been caught up into the sky— | |||
So many white clouds--and the blue of the sky is cold. | |||
Now the sun walks in the forest, | |||
He touches the bows and stems with his golden fingers; | |||
They shiver, and wake from slumber. | |||
Over the barren branches he shakes his yellow curls. | |||
Yet is the forest full of the sound of tears... | |||
A wind dances over the fields. | |||
Shrill and clear the sound of her waking laughter, | |||
Yet the little blue lakes tremble | |||
And the flags of tenderest green bend and quiver. | |||
</poem> | </poem> | ||
</div> | </div> | ||
[[Category:Katherine Mansfield]] | [[Category:Katherine Mansfield]] | ||
{{PD- | {{PD-pma|1923}} | ||
Latest revision as of 18:14, 31 May 2010
| Poems ~ Very Early Spring written by Katherine Mansfield |
| 1923. | Link to further information |
The fields are snowbound no longer;
There are little blue lakes and flags of tenderest green.
The snow has been caught up into the sky—
So many white clouds--and the blue of the sky is cold.
Now the sun walks in the forest,
He touches the bows and stems with his golden fingers;
They shiver, and wake from slumber.
Over the barren branches he shakes his yellow curls.
Yet is the forest full of the sound of tears...
A wind dances over the fields.
Shrill and clear the sound of her waking laughter,
Yet the little blue lakes tremble
And the flags of tenderest green bend and quiver.
|
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