To Spring

O thou, with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro' the clear windows of the morning; turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!


The hills tell each other, and the list'ning
Vallies hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavillions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime.


Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls 
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.


O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour 
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put 
Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee!

- William Blake.

It feels as if there has been no Winter here. No icy cold days where one absolutely must wear a coat out. In fact, I'm not sure if I wore a coat all season. It is like Winter looked at us and said "Nope, maybe next year". I am, in a way, making up for it though, by spending so much time in the Winter of another continent. A Winter much harsher than ever experienced here. All the same, today felt a bit like Spring, with muggy rain and blossoms beginning to burst open. I'd like to say it is my favourite time of year, but it really isn't. Magpies take care of that. No, Autumn is my favourite, but it's a long wait till she comes around again. For now, I must make the most of Spring, which includes spending my Sunday huddled away reading.