"Still life with tulips" by Johannes Bosschaert‘Ode to Spring’ and Other Poetry by Andrew Elliott The Society January 26, 2021 Beauty, Culture, Poetry 2 Comments . Ode to Spring Oh glory be to things that grow! That burgeon, blossom, bud and blow In Springtime’s light and airy breeze, Which ruffles softly new sprung leaves. What tongue there be to justly praise The wonders wrought by Vernal days? These beauties bright which turn, indeed, Each frozen heart to flaming glede. O Daffodil! O Daffodil! That covers well each downy hill— E’en Solomon was not arrayed In splendour such as you displayed. Ah! Lovely Tulip, what to you Is all the wealth of Timbuktu? What, then, the gain of dye from Tyre— When Gladdons blaze with purple fire? Thou Cowslip and thou Daisy fair— Thou Foxglove, Rose, and Lily rare— Much more is your surpassing worth Than all the gems throughout the earth! Consider well what ecstasy Lies cloistered in each Peony— That dormant wait until the hour Their chains are loosed, then start to flow’r. Oh Spring, indeed, thou teachest well That man, though wise, knoweth not the spell Which makes all things by beauty bound— ____That Mystery which none hath found. . . Memory Why do the gulls haunt me so— Who hath ne’er been to sea? Their plaintive cries tell a tale Suffuse with agony. I cannot say what moves me so Except I share their grief For things long gone and out of reach And lands beyond belief. But what ship now can take me there Unto those hither shores Where walk unstained the memories Of Mighty Men of yore Where Pergama stands, fair and strong, And Priam’s mighty son Defends her from the ravages Of Achilles’ Myrmidons. Oh! is there hope—Canst I return To Virgil’s vaunted Rome? Whence rise the walls of Latium That Caesars call their home Where now the bark to bear me back Unto Albion isles? Where Arthur and his doughty knights Pursue the Grail for miles Alas! Alas! There is no hope To reach that blesséd shore Nor stop the course of Time’s swift flow That sunders evermore So I must wait here—with the gulls— Heeding their stricken cries, And try to capture—if I may— The echoings of Time. . . Andrew Elliott is a resident of Franklin, TN NOTE: The Society considers this page, where your poetry resides, to be your residence as well, where you may invite family, friends, and others to visit. Feel free to treat this page as your home and remove anyone here who disrespects you. Simply send an email to firstname.lastname@example.org. Put “Remove Comment” in the subject line and list which comments you would like removed. The Society does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or comments and reserves the right to remove any comments to maintain the decorum of this website and the integrity of the Society. Please see our Comments Policy here. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 2 Responses C.B. Anderson January 27, 2021 I, too, can’t wait for spring to return, but there are a few things in your first poem I would like to address. In stanza 1, line 2, you list a sequence of events pertaining to flowering plants, but since burgeon primarily means to set buds, your sequence is repetitious and out of order. In stanza 2, line 1, the phrase “there be” is not English. You might simply write: What tongue is there …. Alternatively, if you want to maintain the subjunctive mood, you might write “What tongue be there …” At the end of the second stanza you use the word “glede.” According to my lexical sources, this means a predatory bird, which makes no sense. I think you meant “gleed,” which is a regional British word that denotes a glowing ember. In stanza 6 you wrote “flow’r,” which is totally unnecessary and ugly on the page, which you would already know if you had been following the recent comments on this site. The last stanza is a disaster of archaic English verb forms. In the second line, “knows” rather than “knoweth” would actually have preserved the meter which your version ruineth. Don’t go there. It’s not helpful, and if not done accurately, it’s not even quaint. Keep things simple. Write in the language to which you are accustomed. Reply C.B. Anderson January 27, 2021 In short, I admire your exuberance but contemn your affectations. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.