The roofs are shining from the rain,_x000D_ _x000D_ The sparrows twitter as they fly,_x000D_ _x000D_ And with a windy April grace_x000D_ _x000D_ The little clouds go by._x000D_ _x000D_ Yet the back yards are bare and brown_x000D_ _x000D_ With only one unchanging tree-_x000D_ _x000D_ I could not be so sure of Spring_x000D_ _x000D_ Save that it sings in me.
Interpretation
The quote reflects the beauty and renewal of spring, emphasizing personal connection to the season's essence.
In this poignant poem by Sara Teasdale, the imagery of shining roofs and twittering sparrows conveys the refreshing energy of springtime. Despite the bare backyards that signify the remnants of winter, the speaker finds reassurance and vitality in the inner feeling of spring, illustrating how the beauty of nature can inspire and resonate within us, connecting the external world to our internal emotions.
In practice
In a nature appreciation group, one could share this quote to express the joy of recognizing spring's arrival.
As the waves of perfume, heliotrope, rose, _x000D_ _x000D_ Float in the garden when no wind blows, _x000D_ _x000D_ Come to us, go from us, whence no one knows; _x000D_ _x000D_ So the old tunes float in my mind, _x000D_ _x000D_ And go from me leaving no trace behind, _x000D_ _x000D_ Like fragrance borne on the hush of the wind.
From my spirit's gray defeat, From my pulse's flagging beat, From my hopes that turned to sand Sifting through my close-clenched hand, From my own fault's slavery, If I can sing, I still am free. For with my singing I can make A refuge for my spirit's sake, A house of shining words, to be My fragile immortality.
I thought of you and how you love this beauty, And walking up the long beach all alone I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder As you and I once heard their monotone. Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me The cold and sparkling silver of the sea -- We two will pass through death and ages lengthen Before you hear that sound again with me.
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples, The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence Under a moon waning and worn, broken, Tired with summer.
Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten, Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold, Let it be forgotten forever and ever, Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.
For I shall learn from flower and leaf, That color every drop they hold, To change the lifeless wine of grief To living gold.
America today stands poised on a pinnacle of wealth and power, yet we live in a land of vanishing beauty, of increasing ugliness, of shrinking open space, and of an over-all environment that is diminished daily by pollution and noise and blight.
But the trees seemed to know me. They whispered among themselves and beckoned me nearer.
The Nation that destroys its soil destroys itself.
Iris from sea brings wind or mighty rain.
October is nature's funeral month. Nature glories in death more than in life. The month of departure is more beautiful than the month of coming - October than May. Every green thin loves to die in bright colors.
I just wish the world was twice as big and half of it was still unexplored.
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