page 6

Out on a Spring Morning

Oh let me not forget, under grey skies repatriated,
Returned to grey, time-patinated towns,
Not forget, then, this scintillant early sunshine
Playing upon polished new-sprung leaves,
Playing on subtle-shadowed tussock bosses
And stippled spring-grassed slopes of gorse-trimmed hills,
Giving to plain-spread dwellings definition,
Lighting to emerald willow-bordered fields,
Painting lapis-lazuli the wandering mountains,
Shining to diamonds the far mountain-snows.

I may forget the bees’ insistent bourdon
In the willow-flower by the river, the earthy smell,
Alien lark’s carol, little native’s sweet da-capo,
Joyous scents of clover, wattle, furze;
But let me not forget, but lifelong be recorded
Upon my registering eyes’ memorial screen
This brilliancy of green, blue, white, and again blue,
The Spring-purged sky’s dazzle,
The first sun’s brightness, the golden lightness,
This glitter, this glory, this morning jubilee.