The hills tell each other, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime.
Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.
O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languished head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.
- Poem by William Blake
In the spring,
at the end of the day,
you should smell like dirt.
- Quote by Margaret Atwood
Spring Poems
Index
ROMANTIC
LOVE SECRETS
Find the Best of Love,
Passion, and Romance
