Tuesday, March 9, 2010


Ah, hush! Tread softly through the rime,

For there will be a blackbird singing, or a thrush.

Like coloured beads the elm-buds flush:

All the trees dream of leaves and flowers and light.

And see! The northern blank is much more white.

Than frosty grass, for now is snowdrop time.

-Mary Webb


No comments:

Post a Comment