Tag Archives: spring

There Was A Young Lady Called Ling

There was a young lady called Ling
With whom I had a fling.
My girlfriend Kate
Joined our date
In the midst of the budding spring.

There was a young lady called Ling
With whom I had a fling.
My girlfriend Kate
Whacked me with a plate.
Oh love, tis a painful thing!

Hibernation

It is cold.
Should I be bold
And go outside?
Or like a tortoise, hibernate?
I can not decide.

It is late
In the year.
A thought most drear
Does take
Hold .
Not all tortoises awake
From the cold.
I pray
For a spring day.

We Dance In A Ring

We dance in a ring
In spring
When the roses bloom
And little think on winter’s tomb.

We cavort
In the summer sun
With unstaid maid
And give but little thought
To how the deer does run
Towards the setting sun.

In autumn, when leaves fall
We recall
Life’s joys and gall
Ere winter makes a bed
For lover’s head.

“Faith in Spring” by Johann Ludwig Uhland

I spent a pleasant Friday evening with my friend Brian. At one point during the evening Brian mentioned the below poem, “Faith in Spring”, by Johann Ludwig Uhland (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ludwig_Uhland). I must confess to having no German, nor had I heard of the poet who’s poem is reproduced below:

Die linden Lüfte sind erwacht,
Sie säuseln und wehen Tag und Nacht,
Sie schaffen an allen Enden.
O frischer Duft, o neuer Klang!
Nun, armes Herze, sei nicht bang!
Nun muß sich alles, alles wenden.
Die Welt wird schöner mit jedem Tag,
Man weiß nicht, was noch werden mag,
Das Blühen will nicht enden.
Es blüht das fernste, tiefste Tal:
Nun, armes Herz, vergiß der Qual!
Nun muß sich alles, alles wenden.

Faith In Spring

The gentle winds are awakened,
They murmur and waft day and night,
They create in every corner.
Oh fresh scent, oh new sound!
Now, poor dear, fear not!
Now everything, everything must change.
The world becomes more beautiful with each day,
One does not know what may yet happen,
The blooming doesn’t want to end.
The farthest, deepest valley blooms:
Now, poor dear, forget the pain!
Now everything, everything must change.

Why the Budds Are Sticky In Springtime

As a small boy, I remember my grandfather telling me the below story, as to how the buds come to be sticky in springtime. I always assumed that he took the story from a collection of fairytales. However I have searched high and low and it would appear that he invented the tale to entertain me. However, if anyone does know the origin of the tale please do leave a comment. (I don’t remember the tale word for word so have used poetic license when retelling it).

In spring, a group of naughty gnomes (all unseen)
Did toadstools paint with glue
In order to catch the fairy queen.
‘Tis true
For my grandfather told me how the queen stuck fast
And, at last,
On her escape, she did say
To the gnomes “go your way
For I pardon your crime.
But, come springtime
You
Must paint the budds with your pots of glue.
Every year mind,
Or you shall find
That I am not so kind!”
So every year
Out of fear
Of what the fairy queen would do
Where they to forget,
The gnomes paint the budds with glue
(they are busy yet)!