Robert Farrell

to burst with sap

To burst with sap, to bubble with the foam
of the snow-melting's brooks, to germinate and rise and
bloom, to speak- with the lightness of the winds,
with the purling of the springs,
with the sensing of the touch,
To live is to flourish, to pass our days is to grow,
or must be so; for cold airs surround us
and ice-clouds about us glister and entomb.
Life is a passing moment, a space of time;
it is an hour of peace, following upon an hour of sadness,
all raising together (though some, it seems, erode)
an edifice, a hall of stone, with variegated facades
of marble fineness and granite power. It is a
building: no, a building mountain, rising,
straining, piercing the ice-clouds, climbing for the Sun;
And all bedecked with trees, of needles green and
spreading, sucking roots, and trout that play,
and deer that browse, and bear that roam. But
does a mountain live? or rather hold, as on a stage,
where players speak, and characters unfold?
Life is not a drama; it is a marketplace
of intermingling feelings and minds,
of ideas fresh and formulas stale,
of conventions trite and inspirations bold.
It is a game, a task, a struggle,
spread out within a charged but shortened space;
yet not a space, a point, an evolving instant,
a melodious moment mingling in the symphony of time.
Thus life is a passing moment, or is in each passing moment,
ever passing, ever renewed, in a resurrecting moment,
ever refreshing a differentiating organism, the Universe.
It is an hour to be enjoyed, a time to play
and to experience, to suffer, and to respond:
to create, as a whitened Father stretching
his Word to transubstantiate clay, for
Life is Spirit, a Breathing Energy,
source of all motion, tend, and act,
the ecstatic impulse of which we are all suffused.
And the cosmic dust, and the harmonious spheres,
and the pink-skinned babe, all tremble with this life,
implanted as a seed, and of which, still received,
we weave our days, and build our homes,
and cultivate the harvest of our years.
To burst with sap, to bubble with foam,
to germinate and rise and bloom, to speak-
with the lightness of the winds,
with the purling of the springs,
with the sensing of the touch-
to live is to flourish.

Submitted: Sunday, July 28, 2013
Edited: Monday, July 29, 2013

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (to burst with sap by Robert Farrell )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley Updates

New Poems

  1. When Destiny Called Out, Danusha Marie
  2. Bruised My Soul, Lilly Emery
  3. aliens different to my norm, lee fones
  5. We will take our fires..., Marshall Gass
  6. Seed Pod, Marshall Gass
  7. Changeover, Marshall Gass
  8. Together Forever, Maureen Alikor
  9. [ Its winter here and clutching at warmt.., Marshall Gass
  10. Coin, Marshall Gass

Poem of the Day

poet Robert Herrick

Here we are all, by day; by night we're hurl'd
By dreams, each one into a several world.... Read complete »

[Hata Bildir]