The message of all lovely things, New petalled gorse ... the flame of broom,
Warm sunlight in a quiet room. Small leaves unfolding every hour, The still sweet opening of a flower. Spring has such lovely hands...she yields
Her warmth and beauty to the fields, Wooing the Earth with wind and rain, Clothing the hills with green again. New lambs with wee unsteady feet, New grass in pastures warm and sweet.
Spring has such willing hands...she weaves
Her magic tapestry of leaves,
Like a thatched roof above my head And for my feet a carpet spread With woof of scarlet, warp of brown, Woven of moss as soft as down. Spring is the Quickening. . .the birth. The resurrection of the earth.
There is no death of anything.
Life walks triumphant through the spring.
Trailing her glory like a cloak Above the heads of common folk.
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