Friday, March 21, 2014

Spring!

When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
“Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo...” 

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks,
When turtles tread,and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
“Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo...”


William Shakespeare, 
Song from Love's Labour's Lost (1594-5)
in advance celebration of the 450th anniversary of his birth 
(circa 23rd April 1564)

Thursday, March 6, 2014

Forcing Spring


It's coming. We all know that. Yet the more impatient amongst us cannot resist hurrying it along with a burst of imported, bright-faced primulas.


Still, hidden in the woods and alongside streams, native primroses - and violets - have appeared, reassuring us that we are not
deluding ourselves.