Wednesday, April 17, 2013

All That's Past: National Poetry Month



Very old are the woods;
and the buds that break 
out of the briar's boughs,
when March winds wake,
so old with their beauty are--
oh, no man knows
through what wild centuries
roves back the rose.


Very old are the brooks;
and the rills that rise
where snows sleep cold beneath
the azure skies
sing such a history
of come and gone,
their every drop is as wise
as Solomon.

from All That's Past by Walter De La Mare



Copyright 2012 Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

2 comments:

Pat MacKenzie said...

Lovely poetry. I had forgotten how much I like Walter De La Mare's way with words.

I've been without internet all week and have so much to blog about. It seems to have resurrected itself this morning though. I thought of you yesterday while in a gift shop at the South Rim of Grand Canyon. There were little folk statuettes of The Storyteller - a grandmother with little children clustered around her - that seemed made for you.

Granny Sue said...

Pat, knowing you thought of me while on your travels made me smile. I hope your internet stays connected--your post about the Street Feast was wonderful.

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