The Waking: 1948 – Mar 28
I strolled across
An open field;
The sun was out;
Heat was happy.
This way! This way!
The wren’s throat shimmered,
Either to other,
The blossoms sang.
The stones sang,
The little ones did,
And flowers jumped
Like small goats.
A ragged fringe
Of daisies waved;
I wasn’t alone
In a grove of apples.
Far in the wood
A nestling sighed;
The dew loosened
Its morning smells.
I came where the river
Ran over stones:
My ears knew
An early joy.
And all the waters
Of all the streams
Sang in my veins
That summer day.
-Theodore Roethke
I’m going to be gone in Washinton, D.C. for the next week… until Friday, April 3.
I will, of course, catch up on all missed poems then, as I will have no internet access during that week… and I figured this would be a good poem to have at the top of the front page for a week!
Category: Uncategorized Comment »