Thursday Poem, Swiftly

Swiftly the years, beyond recall,
Solemn the stillness of this fair morning.

I will clothe myself in spring clothing,

And visit the slopes of the Eastern Hill.

By the mountain stream a mist hovers,

Hovers a moment, then scatters.

There comes a wind blowing from the south

That brushes the fields of new corn.

T'ao Ch'ien (translation by Arthur Waley) 

Reginald Blyth thought the Chinese poet T'ao Ch'ien's creation was the finest poem ever written. Although we are many weeks away from seeing new corn, the eight lines are (for me anyway) the essence of April and springtime.