Poem by Judith Arundell Wright

Late Spring

The moon drained white by day
lifts from the hill
where the old pear-tree fallen in storm
springs up in blossom still.

Women believe in the moon:
this branch I hold
is not more white and still than she
whose flower is ages old,

and so I carry home
flowers from the pear
that makes such obstinate tokens still
for fruit it cannot bear.

1. Woman to Child
2. Bora Ring
3. The Surfer

Henry Van Dyke Late Spring ("Ah, who will tell me, in these leaden days")

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