Rich meanings of the prophet-Spring adorn,
Unseen, this colourless sky of folded showers,
And folded winds; no blossom in the bowers;
A poet's face asleep in this grey morn.
Now in the midst of the old world forlorn
A mystic child is set in these still hours.
I keep this time, even before the flowers,
Sacred to all the young and the unborn.
To all the miles and miles of unsprung wheat,
And to the Spring waiting beyond the portal,
And to the future of my own young art,
And, among all these things, to you, my sweet,
My friend, to your calm face and the immortal
Child tarrying all your life-time in your heart.
Alice Meynell's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (In February by Alice Meynell )
- October Skies, Judith Emery
- So Much This Heart Holds, Rohit Sapra
- Jackdaw wonting to break free, Mark Heathcote
- You Are My Winter Song, Asma Riaz Khan
- In Dreams It Lives, Rohit Sapra
- Attitude, Pradip Chattopadhyay
- Antidepressants, Nalini Jyotsana Chaturvedi
- Eve of Destruction (2014), Anthony Di'anno
- ! Struck by the Oner, Alice Vedral Rivera
- Haiku 12, Suresh Dogra
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