I’m afraid all of my choices for poems are based on poems I like. It just so happens that I like Nature and Spring, among other things, so I’m afraid you’re getting a lot of poems along those lines. No matter what your area of interest is, there’s a poem for it, so please don’t feel that all poetry is about flowers and trees and so forth. It’s just the poems I like.
Anyway, today, here is a passionate springtime poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese which I strongly suspect is not really about spring. Let me know what you think.
The White Fury of the Spring
Oh, now, now the white fury of the spring
Whirls at each door, and on each flowering plot–
The pear, the cherry, the grave apricot!
The lane’s held in a storm, and is a thing
To take into a grave, a lantern-light
To fasten there, by which to stumble out,
And race in the new grass, and hear about
The crash of bough with bough, of white with white.
Were I to run, I could not run so fast,
But that the spring would overtake me still;
Halfway I go to meet it on the stair.
For certainly it will rush in at last,
And in my own house seize me at its will,
And drag me out to the white fury there.