The Pulse of Spring
The spring has spilt a shining net
Of green-gold buds
Upon the boughs
Of this gray linden-tree.
The hyacinth has lit its torch of amethyst.
A robin sways upon a bow-curved twig,
And sweetly cries.
O spring, forbear!
Oh that Love Has Come at All
I am he who expects too much.
The high keen edge
Of dreams is not sharp
Enough; and the rose
Is not enough red.
I am tired with emptiness,
For love has not come swift enough.
But do thou weave, O heart,
A slender song:
Touched
That love has come at all!
~~
Mark Turbyfill (1896-1990)
from Poetry, May 1917
[Poems are in the public domain in the United States]