Monday, 6 April 2009

The Golden Age

A chalk water stream in a magical wood, leaves of new growth unfurling almost before our eyes

One of the many chalk water springs - in an enchanting place, which for now will have to remain unidentified.

This little blog has almost done a full circle, I started in May last year and now it is another spring - perhaps I have completed what I wanted to say, perhaps not quite yet.
The Golden Age
When the morning breaks above us
And the wild sweet stars have fled,
By the faery hands that love us
Wakened you and I will tread
Where the lilacs on the lawn
Shine with all their silver dews,
In the stillness of the dawn
Wrapped in tender primrose hues
We will hear the strange old song
That the earth croons in her breast,
Echoed by the feathered throng
Joyous from each leafy nest.
Earth, whose dreams are we and they,
With her heart's deep gladness fills
All our human lips can say,
Or the dawn-fired singer trills.
She is rapt in dreams divine:
As her clouds of beauty pass,
On our glowing hearts they shine.
Mirrored there as in a glass.
So when all the vapors grey
From our flowery paths shall flit,
And the dawn shall begin the day,
We will sing a song to it.
Ere its yellow fervour flies: -
Oh, we were so glad of youth,
Whose first sweetness never dies
Nourished by eternal truth.
George William Russell (AE) 1867-1935
For the small group of people I walked with on Saturday - each one eloquent in their own way. Thank you for showing me the springs and wood, alive with birdsong and the first dragonflies of the year - an enchanted place.