Celebrate blossom with Spring-themed poems

It’s April! A beautiful month full of flower blossom in the garden and forest. So why not celebrate this season of Spring with poems. Here is the collection of my favorite poems and also my own poems writing as inspired by nature‘s resilience. If you join any one of our forest therapy sessions, we will end up by reading poetry under the trees while sipping my specially brew tea wherever we are in the nature.

Sonnet 98

By William Shakespeare

From you have I been absent in the spring,When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smellOf different flowers in odour and in hue,Could make me any summer’s story tell,Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;They were but sweet, but figures of delightDrawn after you, – you pattern of all those.    Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,    As with your shadow I with these did play.

Lines Written in Early Spring

By William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes,While in a grove I sate reclined,In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughtsBring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature linkThe human soul that through me ran;And much it grieved my heart to thinkWhat man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;And ’tis my faith that every flowerEnjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,Their thoughts I cannot measure:—But the least motion which they madeIt seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,To catch the breezy air;And I must think, do all I can,That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,If such be Nature’s holy plan,Have I not reason to lamentWhat man has made of man?

Spring

By Gerard Manley Hopkins

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring –         

   When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;         

   Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush         

Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring         

The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;

   The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush         

   The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush         

With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.         

What is all this juice and all this joy?         

   A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning

In Eden garden. – Have, get, before it cloy,         

   Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,         

Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,     

  Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning