Sunday Letter
J.S. Legg
Song of Spring?

When daisies pied and violets blue
   And lady-smocks all silver-white
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
   Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he:
                         Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo! O, word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
   And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
   And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
                         Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo! O, word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

—Wm. Shakespeare, "Song: Spring" (from Love's Labors Lost)

Song of Spring?
Sunday Letter, Children and Nature, New Books
J.S. Legg
rarer yellow

Nature rarer uses yellow
Than another hue;
Saves she all of that for sunsets, —
Prodigal of blue,

Spending scarlet like a woman,
Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly,
Like a lover's words.

—Emily Dickinson, “Nature rarer uses yellow”

rarer yellow
Sunday Letter, New Books
J.S. Legg
the sun is like gold

I know a place where the sun is like gold,
     And the cherry blooms burst with snow,
And down underneath is the loveliest nook,
     Where the four-leaf clovers grow.

One leaf is for hope, and one is for faith,
     And one is for love, you know,
And God put another in for luck—
     If you search, you will find where they grow.

But you must have hope, and you must have faith,
      You must love and be strong—and so—
If you work, if you wait, you will find the place
     Where the four-leaf clovers grow.

—Ella Higginson, “Four-Leaf Clover”

the sun is like gold
Sunday Letter, New Books
J.S. Legg
Squirrel, Eclipse, Bumble bee

"Nature" is what we see—
The Hill—the Afternoon—
Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee—
Nay—Nature is Heaven—
Nature is what we hear—
The Bobolink—the Sea—
Thunder—the Cricket—
Nay—Nature is Harmony—
Nature is what we know—
Yet have no art to say—
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity.

—Emily Dickinson, "Nature is what we see” (no.668)

Squirrel, Eclipse, Bumble bee
Sunday Letter
J.S. Legg
Rise through the waking Earth

Lazarus dead, rise up: for you the dove's obeying
The voice of light within the water's utmost crown
Change all the drops to glory. In their cloud delaying,
Pity at last the rich, consumed by their renown.
A winding-sheet has veiled the silence of love's glory,
Earth purified by love, no life not full of light;
Sleep in the sepulchre, believe that ancient story,
That ancient sun believe, on Moses' tablets raying,
Yet see these petals breaking near the source, and white
Roses on thorny stems, and white acacia swaying
Where glinting birds alight above the ringing cup.
Crumble this crust of birth to throw to ring-doves playing.
Rise through the waking Earth; Lazarus dead, rise up.

—Vernon Watkins, from "Cantata for the Waking of Lazarus"

***

Blessed Easter Greetings from all of us at Steinerbooks!
With gratitude for your support and attention, and warmest of wishes,
—John Scott

Rise through the waking Earth

Sunday Letter

Song of Spring?

Song of Spring?

When daisies pied and violets blue
   And lady-smocks all silver-white
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
   Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he:
                         Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo! O, word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
   And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
   And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
                         Cuckoo;
Cuckoo, cuckoo! O, word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!

—Wm. Shakespeare, "Song: Spring" (from Love's Labors Lost)

© SteinerBooks 2024