II
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
~~
A.E. Housman (1859-1936)
from A Shropshire Lad, 1896
[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]
A.E. Houseman biography
It was budding last week, blossoming this week. This poem by Housman helps me understand why I've become so interested in seasonal change. My case is even more extreme than his speaker's: at 59, I have only 15 or so chances left to see, smell, and celebrate blossoming.
ReplyDelete