Spring on the Woodland Path

Nikolai Ustinov

SPRING ON THE WOODLAND PATH

So long a winter such an Arctic night!

I had forgot that ever spring was bright:

But hark! The blackbird's voice like a clear flame!

So long a winter, such an age of chill,

Made me forget this silver birch clad hill.

But see, the newborn sunbeams put to shame

Our long dead winter: bracken fronds like flame,

Pierce the new morning's saffron-watered light.

So long, so long the winter in our hearts,

We had forgotten that old grief departs

And had forgotten that our hands could meet.

So long, so long: Remember our last May

When there was sunshine still and every day

New swallows skimmed low down along the street.

Ay, spring shall come, but shall we ever meet

With the old hearts in this forgotten way?

FORD MADOX FORD

“I had forgot that ever spring was bright.” That has been true for me. The light – the longer days – the sun-warmth – all these I had forgotten. “But see, the new-born sunbeams put to shame/Our long dead winter.” I experience that too. Like shutting the door of a dark room and walking toward a bright one. And the music of the lines – “So long, so long the winter in our hearts, We had forgotten that old grief departs/ And had forgotten that our hands could meet.” The last poem I posted (“A Portrait of Grief”, by S. Bert Kingsley) also mentioned hands. Hands that are not there to reach for us. And here, the speaker is reminded – hands can meet – they did before. Will they again? Will the old hearts meet the way they did before? A happy/sad question. Encouraged by the light, and by the resurgence of memories, but also saddened by the changes in each other and the losses we have endured.