Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Pear Blossom Study and George Herbert

Yes, I like George Herbert!  He's writes such amazingly beautiful poetry, and his poem entitled "Easter" is posted below.

Until just two days ago, a lone pear tree comprises our orchard.  There's now a young peach tree to accompany the pear, but until age and tornadoes took their toll, our orchard used to consist of an apple, peach, and plum tree.  So, slowly we rebuild. 
Last season, our pear tree bore prodigiously from August until a November freeze.  We ate pears, gave away pears, stored up pears, and gave the horses all the pears they could hope for.  Perhaps this abundance was recompense for the previous year when not one pear was borne due to a late spring killing frost.  This year, if the number of blossoms is any indicator, the horses will be feasting on pears once more.

                                            Pear blossoms on blue.
                                                              Pear blossom clouds.
                                                                                Bee's-eye view.
                                                Pear blossom swag.
Easter by George Herbert
Rise heart; thy Lord is risen.  Sing his praise
          Without delays.
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
          With him mayst rise:
That, as his death calcined thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and much more just.

Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
          With all thy art.
The cross taught all wood to resound his name,
          Who bore the same.
His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.

COnsort both heart and lute, and twist a song
          Pleasant and long:
Or since all music is but three parts vied
          And multiplied,
O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.

I got me flowers to straw thy way;
I got me boughs off many a tree:
But thou wast up by break of day,
And brough'st thy sweets along with thee.

The sun arising in the East,
Though he give light, and th'East perfume;
If they should offer to contest
With thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,
Though many suns to shine endeavor?
We count three hundred, but we miss:
There is but one, and that one ever.

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