This from the Song of Solomon (King James Bible) is a nice one for February when the sun is just starting to peek his pale face through the clouds, and you get the first inkling that spring is actually not that far away:
My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over, and gone.
The flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land.
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with teh tender grape give a good smell.
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
And a few years ago I read this on the tube – it’s was on one of those London Underground posters. Had forgotten it but for some reason was thinking about Robert Louis Stevenson the other day, and he always reminds me of adventure. Makes me think of walking along the Thames.
It’s called: Where go the boats?
Dark brown is the river,
Golden is the sand.
It flows along for ever,
With trees on either hand.
Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating –
Where will all come home?
On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill.
Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.
I saw this today by Marianne Moore. Short but perfectly formed. Deserves its own post really, but there you go.
It’s called: I may, I might, I must.
If you will tell me why the fen
appears impassable, I then
will tell you why I think that I
can get across it if I try.
Marianne Moore (1887-1972)