Grass that grows in spring
Poem No. 778
Grass that grows in spring grows long withal to bring along with ev'ry living thing the gentle swell of life from light just as the old hills, slight and rolling off and out of sight the tide of green beneath the sun begins again this year to run.
I don’t know what it is, but somehow I’ve gravitated this season to describing spring using ocean imagery (at least in this and one other poem). There’s something about it that implies an irresistible, immense force, akin to the tides and the currents of the sea. I suppose the ocean is also appealing as a mental parallel because it is steadfast and regular. The dependable, circular regularity of the seasons mirrors this. But spring, like the sea, is also quiet and serene most of the time, coming slowly and gently one wavelet, one branch of blossoms, at a time.
I don’t think spring really has any parallels to the ocean’s other side, the wild untamed fury of the stormy deep. Spring tends to be much nicer than that.
Anyway, that’s all for now.