A poem for Spring

Happy first day of Spring. Here is a little poem by Emily Dickinson. She seems to be heralding then mourning the rare and precious light of spring itself. May we all look toward renewal, and find joy in the small things, a blade of grass, a chirping bird.

A Light exists in SpringNot present on the YearAt any other period —When March is scarcely hereA Color stands abroadOn Solitary FieldsThat Science cannot overtakeBut Human Nature feels.It waits upon the Lawn,It shows the furthest TreeUpon the furthest Slope you knowIt almost speaks to you.Then as Horizons stepOr Noons report awayWithout the Formula of soundIt passes and we stay —A quality of lossAffecting our ContentAs Trade had suddenly encroachedUpon a Sacrament.

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