this poem arrived in my inbox last night. my brother sent it as a way to send his love, and joy of spring in the air; flowers blooming, life feeling more vibrant, colourful, rich, beautiful. i want to share, and also, ask all of you to share your favourite poems. i dont know who this poem is written by, though it's on the tip of my conciousness.
Thy fingers make early flowers of
all things.
thy hair mostly the hours love:
a smothness which
sings, saying
(though love be a day)
do not fear, we will go amaying.
thy whitest feet crisply are straying.
Always
thy moist eyes at kisses are playing,
whose strangeness much
says; singing
(though love be a day)
for which girl art thou flowers bringing?
To be thy lips is a sweet thing
and small.
Death, Thee i call rich beyond wishing
if this thou catch,
else missing.
(though love be a day
and life be nothing, it shall not stop kissing).
poetry like this brings tears to my face, inspiration to my heart.
Thy fingers make early flowers of
all things.
thy hair mostly the hours love:
a smothness which
sings, saying
(though love be a day)
do not fear, we will go amaying.
thy whitest feet crisply are straying.
Always
thy moist eyes at kisses are playing,
whose strangeness much
says; singing
(though love be a day)
for which girl art thou flowers bringing?
To be thy lips is a sweet thing
and small.
Death, Thee i call rich beyond wishing
if this thou catch,
else missing.
(though love be a day
and life be nothing, it shall not stop kissing).
poetry like this brings tears to my face, inspiration to my heart.