Featured Poem: The Winter’s Spring by John Clare

It may not officially be Winter until next week, but no doubt the woolly hats and scarves have long come out of storage for the chill that is lingering in the air. Though people are often quick to point the minus points of the season (along with the lower scale of temperature), there is much to celebrate about the coldest time of year too. To those who may be in doubt of any positives, why not take a read of this poem by John Clare - almost a love poem with the declaration "To those who keep their hearts their own/The winter is the spring".

The Winter's Spring

The winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please--no bees to hum--
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring--the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.

John Clare