spring morning poem

Here are three spring morning poems. The first poem is a classic poem by Lady Flora Hastings, then yet two more spring morning poems by Milne and Housman. Enjoy!

spring morning poem
Morning Mist by Guy Rose

The Spring Morning, a poem

by Lady Flora Hastings

Get up, little sister, the morning is bright,
And the birds are all singing to welcome the light ;
The buds are all opening the dew’s on the flower ;
If you shake but a branch, see, there falls quite a
shower.

By the side of their mothers, look! under the trees,
How the young lambs are skipping about as they please ;
And by all those rings on the water, I know,
The fishes are merrily swimming below.

The bee, I dare say, has been long on the wing,
To get honey from every flower of the spring ;
For the bee never idles, but labors all day,
And thinks (wise little insect!) work better than play.

The lark’s singing gaily; it loves the bright sun,
And rejoices that now the gay spring is begun;
For the spring is so cheerful, I think ‘twould be wrong
If we did not feel happy to hear the lark’s song.

Get up, for when all things are merry and glad,
Good children should never be lazy and sad;
For God gives us daylight, dear sister, that we
May rejoice like the lark, and may work like the bee.

spring-morning-poem-2
Spring Morning by Camille Pissarro

Spring Morning, a poem

by A. A. Milne

Where am I going? I don’t quite know.
Down to the stream where the king-cups grow-
Up on the hill where the pine-trees blow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.

Where am I going? The clouds sail by,
Little ones, baby ones, over the sky.
Where am I going? The shadows pass,
Little ones, baby ones, over the grass.

If you were a cloud, and sailed up there,
You’d sail on water as blue as air,
And you’d see me here in the fields and say:
“Doesn’t the sky look green today?”

Where am I going? The high rooks call:
“It’s awful fun to be born at all.”
Where am I going? The ring-doves coo:
“We do have beautiful things to do.”

If you were a bird, and lived on high,
You’d lean on the wind when the wind came by,
You’d say to the wind when it took you away:
“That’s where I wanted to go today!”

Where am I going? I don’t quite know.
What does it matter where people go?
Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.

spring morning poem

Spring Morning, a poem

by A. E. Housman

Star and coronal and bell
April underfoot renews,
And the hope of man as well
Flowers among the morning dews.

Now the old come out to look,
Winter past and winter’s pains,
How the sky in pool and brook
Glitters on the grassy plains.

Easily the gentle air
Wafts the turning season on;
Things to comfort them are there,
Though ’tis true the best are gone.

Now the scorned unlucky lad
Rousing from his pillow gnawn
Mans his heart and deep and glad
Drinks the valiant air of dawn.

Half the night he longed to die,
Now are sown on hill and plain
Pleasures worth his while to try
Ere he longs to die again.

Blue the sky from east to west
Arches, and the world is wide,
Though the girl he loves the best
Rouses from another’s side.

From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before.
In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning, sending its glad voice across an hundred years.

— Rabindranath Tagore

If you enjoyed these poems, you will also enjoy these wonderful poems about the months.



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