Concetta Flore |
Sonnet
Think, love, how when a starry night of frost
Is ended, and the small, pale winter sun
Shines on the garden trellis, ice-embossed,
And the stiff frozen flower-stalks, every one;
And turns their fine embroideries of ice
Into a loosening silver, skein by skein,
Warming cold leaves and stones, till, in a trice,
The garden smiles, and breathes, and lives again,
And further think, how the poor frozen snail
Creeps out with trembling horn to feel that heat,
And thaws the snowy mildew from his mail,
And stretches with all his length from his retreat:
Will he not praise, with all his heart, the sun?
Then think, at last, I too am such a one.
Conrad Aiken
"Fine embroideries of ice..."
"The garden smiles, and breathes, and lives again..."
Just beautiful. The smallest sign of hope, of Spring, lifts our hearts.
"Fine embroideries of ice..."
"The garden smiles, and breathes, and lives again..."
Just beautiful. The smallest sign of hope, of Spring, lifts our hearts.
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