Spring

Poem By Tom Wolfe

Autumn was kind to them,
Winter was long to them—
But in April, late April,
All the gold sang.

Spring came that year like magic,
Like music, and like song.
One day its breath was in the air,
A haunting premonition of its spirit
Filled the hearts of men
With its transforming loveliness,
Working its sudden and icredible sorcery
Upon grey streets, grey pavements,
And on grey faceless tides of manswarm ciphers.

It came like music faint and far,
It came with triumph,
And a sound of singing in the air,
With lutings of sweet bird-cries
At the break of day
And the high, swift passing of a wing,
And one day it was there
Upon the city streets
With a strange, sudden cry of green,
Its sharp knife of wordless joy and pain.

Not the whole glory
Of the great plantation of the earth
Could have outdone the glory of the city streets
That Spring.
Neither the cry of great, green fields,
Nor the song of the hills,
Nor the glory of young birch trees
Bursting into life again along the banks of rivers,
Nor the oceans of bloom in the flowering orchards,
The peach trees, the apple trees,
The plum and cherry trees—
Not all of the singing and the gold of Spring,
With April bursting from the earth
In a million shouts of triumph,
And the visible stride,
The flowered feet, of Springtime
As it came on across the earth,
Could have surpassed the wordless and poignant glory
Of a single tree in a city street
That Spring.

Comments about Spring

There is no comment submitted by members.


Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of WOLFE

Magic

And who shall say—
Whatever disenchantment follows—
That we ever forget magic,

O Lost

We shall not come again.
We never shall come back again.
But over us all, over us all,

Like the River

Why are you absent in the night, my love?
Where are you when the bells ring in the night?
Now, there are bells again,

Night

The wasting helve of the moon rode into heaven
Over the bulk of the hills.
There was a smell of wet grass and lilac,

Fountain

On the Square,
The slackened fountain
Dripped a fat spire of freezing water
Into its thickening rim of ice.

The Fading Light of Day

And the slant light steepened in the skies,
The old red light of waning day
Made magic fire upon the river,