A spring poem from bion
Eugene Field 1850 (St. Louis) – 1895 (Chicago)
One asketh:
"Tell me, Myrson, tell me true:
What's the season pleaseth you?
Is it summer suits you best,
When from harvest toil we rest?
Is it autumn with its glory
Of all surfeited desires?
Is it winter, when with story
And with song we hug our fires?
Or is spring most fair to you--
Come, good Myrson, tell me true!"
Another answereth:
"What the gods in wisdom send
We should question not, my friend;
Yet, since you entreat of me,
I will answer reverently:
Me the summertime displeases,
For its sun is scorching hot;
Autumn brings such dire diseases
That perforce I like it not;
As for biting winter, oh!
How I hate its ice and snow!
"But, thrice welcome, kindly spring,
With the myriad gifts you bring!
Not too hot nor yet too cold,
Graciously your charms unfold--
Oh, your days are like the dreaming
Of those nights which love beseems,
And your nights have all the seeming
Of those days of golden dreams!
Heaven smiles down on earth, and then
Earth smiles up to heaven again!"
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 54 sec read
- 115 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABBCCDEDEBB AFFDDEGXGHH IIJJIEIXKK |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 982 |
Words | 183 |
Stanzas | 3 |
Stanza Lengths | 11, 11, 10 |
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"A spring poem from bion" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 8 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/12884/a-spring-poem-from-bion>.
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