A sonnet to spring

Once believed to be summoned from slumber by birdsong, spring–from gambolling lambs to pale wood anemones and the rabbity-nosed velvet of ash buds– is a season of timeless joy for John Lewis-Stempel

- John Lewis-Stempel

SPRING is a timeless joy, whether you are girl or boy. It is a pleasure democratically available to all, dweller of city flat, country hall. Spring! Gaudy yellow cowslips trumpet the news. Spring! A word enough to make the heart sing. Spring! When trees unfurl their leaves, butterflies their wings. Spring! When the birds again sing.

Some of my favoured things of spring are commonplace, which is part of their delight —to know that, since the Stone Agers penetrated these isles’ wildwood, we have delighted in them. I adore with the commitment of a disciple the thrush singing matins against April’s celestial blue mornings—as pure as the first day of Creation—and the rabbity-nosed velvet of ash buds. In spring the sap rises, as surely as increasing sun rises the spirits. The fancy of animals turns to fecundity, the thoughts of farmers to spring wheat, but it is all the planting of seed. The birds do it, the bees do it, humans too. According to the Bard in As You Like It:

It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino

That o’er the green cornfield did pass

In springtime, the only pretty ring time

When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding, Sweet lovers love the spring.