The roofs are shining from the rain,_x000D_ _x000D_ The sparrows twitter as they fly,_x000D_ _x000D_ And with a windy April grace_x000D_ _x000D_ The little clouds go by._x000D_ _x000D_ Yet the back yards are bare and brown_x000D_ _x000D_ With only one unchanging tree-_x000D_ _x000D_ I could not be so sure of Spring_x000D_ _x000D_ Save that it sings in me.
Interpretation
The quote reflects the beauty and renewal of spring, emphasizing personal connection to the season's essence.
In this poignant poem by Sara Teasdale, the imagery of shining roofs and twittering sparrows conveys the refreshing energy of springtime. Despite the bare backyards that signify the remnants of winter, the speaker finds reassurance and vitality in the inner feeling of spring, illustrating how the beauty of nature can inspire and resonate within us, connecting the external world to our internal emotions.
In practice
In a nature appreciation group, one could share this quote to express the joy of recognizing spring's arrival.
As the waves of perfume, heliotrope, rose, _x000D_ _x000D_ Float in the garden when no wind blows, _x000D_ _x000D_ Come to us, go from us, whence no one knows; _x000D_ _x000D_ So the old tunes float in my mind, _x000D_ _x000D_ And go from me leaving no trace behind, _x000D_ _x000D_ Like fragrance borne on the hush of the wind.
From my spirit's gray defeat, From my pulse's flagging beat, From my hopes that turned to sand Sifting through my close-clenched hand, From my own fault's slavery, If I can sing, I still am free. For with my singing I can make A refuge for my spirit's sake, A house of shining words, to be My fragile immortality.
I thought of you and how you love this beauty, And walking up the long beach all alone I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder As you and I once heard their monotone. Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me The cold and sparkling silver of the sea -- We two will pass through death and ages lengthen Before you hear that sound again with me.
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer, Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing, Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects, Ceaseless, insistent. The grasshopper's horn, and far-off, high in the maples, The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence Under a moon waning and worn, broken, Tired with summer.
Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten, Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold, Let it be forgotten forever and ever, Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.
For I shall learn from flower and leaf, That color every drop they hold, To change the lifeless wine of grief To living gold.
We can hold back neither the coming of the flowers nor the downward rush of the stream; sooner or later, everything comes to its fruition.
If we are to save humanity and the planet from the worst mass extinction of all time, worse even than that at the end of the Permian, we must stop at two degrees.
The sad thing about destroying the environment is that we're going to take the rest of life with us. The bluebirds will be gone, and the elephants will be gone, and the tigers will be gone, and the pandas will be gone.
There can be no very black melancholy to him who lives in the midst of Nature and has his senses still.
October is the month for painted leaves. Their rich glow now flashes round the world. As fruits and leaves and the day itself acquire a bright tint just before they fall, so the year near its setting. October is its sunset sky; November the later twilight.
That afternoon the sky was scattered with black clouds galloping in from the sea and clustering over the city. Flashes of lightening echoed on the horizon and a charged warm wind smelling of dust announced a powerful summer storm. When I reached the station I noticed the first few drops, shiny and heavy, like coins falling from heaven...Night seemed to fall suddenly, interrupted only by the lightning now bursting over the city, leaving a trail of noise and fury.
Subscribe for the occasional hand-picked quote. No noise.