On longer evenings,
Light, chill and yellow,
Bathes the serene
Foreheads of houses.
A thrush sings,
Laurel-surrounded
In the deep bare garden,
Its fresh-peeled voice
Astonishing the brickwork.
It will be spring soon,
It will be spring soon —
And I, whose childhood
Is a forgotten boredom,
Feel like a child
Who comes on a scene
Of adult reconciling,
And can understand nothing
But the unusual laughter,
And starts to be happy.
(Coming, Philip Larkin)
VIEW 14 of 14 COMMENTS
annalee:
@outlier What lovely observations, as ever! You should get at shirt that says "excessively parenthesised", of at least a badge! To notice and feel everything being connected to everything else is highly useful in my opinion. I hope you're well too. I have been marvelling lately at how hard it is to play Bach's Prelude I, well...
nikonphoto80:
very beautiful, i will keep that in my head when spring does come.
