Spring rides no horses down the hill,
But comes on foot, a goose-girl still.
And all the loveliest things there be
Come simply, so, it seems to me.
If ever I said, in grief or pride,
I tired of honest things, I lied:
And should be cursed forevermore
With Love in laces, like a whore,
And neighbours cold, and friends unsteady,
And Spring on horseback, like a lady!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
quirky, sassy little poem. Alas, so much more. 'All the loviliest things that be come simply so it seems to me.' A thought of lightness, a poem of spring...that is so much deeper than nice, sassy and quirky.