Here is my version:
Morning
Nothing is so beautiful as morning-
When clouds, in clumps, dazing pink and purple and pretty;
Light’s rays lightly linger in long streaks of colour, lighting
Humble treetops, roofs of buildings, so they scorch and sear
The eye, bricks reflecting molten fire to my gaze;
The ground is sparkling, and the morning insects sing
The unassuming colours of the sky; the sky all lazy
With loveliness; the waking people move so slow.
What is all this creeping and this crawling?
A strain of the day’s sweet life, unfilled potential
In our world – Run, live, before it cloy,
Before it hurry, and burn in dusking orange,
Innocent morning and the waking dreams of dawn,
Most, your sweet awakening, shall always be worth the waiting.
And here is his poem:
Spring
Nothing is so beautiful as Spring-
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. - Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.
Edit: I'm irritated at Blogger because it removed all of the indentations that are present in both poems. No matter how I try and put them in, however, they do not show. So I guess you'll just have to imagine that they are well-formatted and lovely. Sigh!
-Jesse
