If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant: if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome. (Anne Bradstreet 1612-1672)

Yesterday the twig was brown and bare;
To-day the glint of green is there;
Tomorrow will be leaflets spare;
I know no thing so wondrous fair,
No miracle so strangely rare.
I wonder what will next be there!   (L. H. Bailey 1858-1954)

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“Spring Morning” by the English painter William Joseph Bond 1833-1926

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The Spring comes in with all her hues and smells,
In freshness breathing over hills and dells;
O’er woods where May her gorgeous drapery flings,
And meads washed fragrant by their laughing springs.
Fresh are new opened flowers, untouched and free
From the bold rifling of the amorous bee.
The happy time of singing birds is come,
And Love’s lone pilgrimage now finds a home;
Among the mossy oaks now coos the dove,
And the hoarse crow finds softer notes for love.
The foxes play around their dens, and bark
In joy’s excess, ‘mid woodland shadows dark.
The flowers join lips below; the leaves above;
And every sound that meets the ear is Love. (John Clare 1793-1864)

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I‘m delighted to have discovered this YouTube item - “It was a lover and his lass” played and sung by an Early Music Ensemble from Belgrade called “Flauto Dolce.”



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This week at EIGHTY PLUS FOUR (an octogenarian looks back) I look back to the 19th century when many Scots set off for the unknown to begin new lives in America.

http://80plus4.blogspot.com

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