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.
—from “Spring” by Gerard Manley Hopkins
