Saturday, May 02, 2009
April was poetry month. Darn, late again. Oh well.
Someplace in my recent travels I saw, or heard, this Robert Frost poem and, Spring having finally truly reached these northern climes, these lines have been repeating in my head.
I visited Robert Frost last fall at his current earthly abode, under a stone in a churchyard in Bennington, Vermont. I suppose this illustrates the point he was making in this poem... Or, perhaps we should focus on the time that the first green is actually with us and not on its fated departure.
(I don't actually have two other points to make now -- I have to plant all these seeds I bought weeks ago, but here's the poem).
Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Here's a little of nature's first green outside the door of the Last House (all taken about 20 minutes ago at about 6:30 PM EST...)