“Spring sang softly as Winter died, “I’ll bloom for you; while my heart still cries.”
As someone who loves literature, I’ve always found springtime to be incredibly inspiring. There’s just something about this season that represents so many powerful themes like growth, renewal, and new beginnings. It’s no wonder that poets and writers throughout history have been drawn to its sights, sounds, and feelings, using them to create some of the most powerful works of art that we still enjoy today. Whether it’s ancient poems or modern novels, spring has always played a special role in bringing these stories to life.
Today I’d like to share with you 10 poems that I hope you’ll find just as inspiring as I have. These 10 poems do a fantastic job of expressing the excitement and appreciation we all feel as we welcome the new season. So without further ado, let’s dive in and enjoy some beautiful poetry together!
How many millions April's came Before I ever knew How white a cherry bough could be, A bed of squills how blue! And many a light-foot April, When life is done with me, Will lift the blue flame of the flower And the white flame of the tree. Oh. burn me with your beauty then, Oh, hurt me, tree and flower, Lest in the end death try to take Even this glistening hour. O shaken flowers, O shimmering trees, O sunlit white and blue, Wound me, that I through endless sleep May bear the scar of you! -Sara Teasdale
Spring is like a perhaps hand (which comes carefully out of Nowhere)arranging a window,into which people look(while people stare arranging and changing placing carefully there a strange thing and a known thing here)and changing everything carefully spring is like a perhaps Hand in a window (carefully to and fro moving New and Old things,while people stare carefully moving a perhaps fraction of flower here placing an inch of air there)and without breaking anything. -E. E. Cummings
Frost-locked all the winter, Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, What shall make their sap ascend That they may put forth shoots? Tips of tender green, Leaf, or blade, or sheath; Telling of the hidden life That breaks forth underneath, Life nursed in its grave by Death. Blows the thaw-wind pleasantly, Drips the soaking rain, By fits looks down the waking sun: Young grass springs on the plain; Young leaves clothe early hedgerow trees; Seeds, and roots, and stones of fruits, Swollen with sap put forth their shoots; Curled-headed ferns sprout in the lane; Birds sing and pair again. There is no time like Spring, When life’s alive in everything, Before new nestlings sing, Before cleft swallows speed their journey back Along the trackless track – God guides their wing, He spreads their table that they nothing lack, – Before the daisy grows a common flower Before the sun has power To scorch the world up in his noontide hour. There is no time like Spring, Like Spring that passes by; There is no life like Spring-life born to die, Piercing the sod, Clothing the uncouth clod, Hatched in the nest, Fledged on the windy bough, Strong on the wing: There is no time like Spring that passes by, Now newly born, and now Hastening to die. -Christina Rossetti, A Poem For Every Spring Day
If ever there were a spring day so perfect, so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze that it made you want to throw open all the windows in the house and unlatch the door to the canary's cage, indeed, rip the little door from its jamb, a day when the cool brick paths and the garden bursting with peonies seemed so etched in sunlight that you felt like taking a hammer to the glass paperweight on the living room end table, releasing the inhabitants from their snow-covered cottage so they could walk out, holding hands and squinting into this larger dome of blue and white, well, today is just that kind of day. -Billy Collins, from Aimless Love, New and Selected Poems