Along the lanes the rowan
Trees put out their fresh green tongues,
To taste again the young yellow dew
Of a new-honeyed sun.
Along the banks the willowed girls,
Who cried glass rivers in vain
All winter long,
Swan past now in gold-leaved dresses,
Combing out the brassy threshings
Of my old, frozen song.
They tease out the jaded furls,
Ease the hood and jesses of my longing,
Release me into spring again, shivering
On the bright and streaming dawn.
Along the lanes I am returning
To keep, I hope, the age-old promise
Of a green feast.
Or if not, then to pay, at least, the owing -
Offering a soft, wet-winged glimpse
Into the stumbling chance, the trembling delivery.
Or if not even that, to witness the early sowing
Of the first, quivering poem.
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Comments about this poem (Creation by Denise Antoni )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
William Carlos Williams
(17 September 1883 – 4 March 1963)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
- Michael P. McParland
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
- The Saddest Poem, Pablo Neruda
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Winter Solstice, Jacqueline C Nash
- A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
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