So short the span of blossomy spring!
A centuryís gaze
Would still amaze;
Yet in this solemn season
Between the palms and the passion,
Should trees display themselves in flowery fashion
Without good reason?
Those who ask should know
That Nature is a tomboy.
And though he goes to woe
Christís no kill-joy either.
Blossom is Christ-like:
Petals pink and petals white bless the earth but briefly.
Fair in their transience,
They hold the harvestís prescience mysteriously.
These latter April days of sun and snow
When only crab and quince show leaf in full
And foam blows thick on every damson bough,
Newness seems unending
And loveliness enduring;
Just as Jesusí glory must have seemed
To those who loved, and stayed till that bleak end.
But through sadness and sorrow we have come to comprehend
A span of blossomy spring that has no end;
The dying of Godís flower on the tree
As blossoming of life for you and me.