(In the Cleveland district of Yorkshire the misselthrush is so called.) RED Winter, with a sigh and shrug, First listens to the sound, And then begins to roll the rug Of fairy lambswool from the ground. The Spirit of Flowers along the sky With far-away plumes is winging, And, full of faith, on a tree close by, Sir Jeremy Joy is singing. Here's once again the sweet surprise Of what is old, yet new!— The crocus lifting to the skies His dew-glass wet with radiant dew. My body a nest of pulses seems, Like meadow-born lambs a-springing, And into my heart flock purple dreams, For Jeremy Joy is singing. The year-long wanderers from my breast Come lovely home to me, With pale-green palms together pressed, As if they begged for charity. The woodland whispers of the foam Of flowers alert for bringing The snow-bound bee from his honeycomb, For Jeremy Joy is singing. Who comes from Cleveland, he will know The bonny bird I mean, And in his breast may cheerier go His heart for some thrice-happy scene: Perchance he went by prosperous farms And bells of rivulets ringing, To bend his neck for young love's arms When Jeremy Joy was singing! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE END OF THE WORLD by GORDON BOTTOMLEY THE FOREFATHER by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON CHRIST IN FLANDERS by LUCY WHITMELL POEM FOR PICTURE: TO AN OIL PAINTING BY WINSLOW HOMER (DRIFTWOOD) by FRANK ANKENBRAND JR. BRUCE: INTRODUCTION by JOHN BARBOUR THE RED COUNTRY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE POET'S TEAR by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON |