A Tyrian light the village fills—
A wider sunrise in the morn—
A deeper twilight on the lawn—
A print of a vermillion foot—
A purple finger on the slope—
A flippant fly upon the pane—
A spider at his trade again—
An added strut in Chanticleer—
A flower expected everywhere—
An axe shrill singing in the woods—
Fern odors on untravelled roads—
All this and more I cannot tell—
A furtive look you know as well—
And Nicodemus' Mystery
Receives its annual reply!
- F 90 (1859) 140
As I write this Spring is nosing about in Christchurch, New Zealand where I live. Ignoring the recent earthquakes that crumbled many nearby cliffs, the hills do have ‘An altered look’. Green is dusting their flanks and large swaths are blooming in the crayon yellow of gorse and broom and saltbush (all invasive exotics, alas, but healthy and colorful nonetheless).
She addresses the reader directly towards the end when she says “A furtive look you know as well”. Since she began the poem by pointing out the ‘altered look’ she is adding a twist here by saying the look as the hills don their spring colors is furtive. Spring is slipping in with a finger and a footprint. The poet just knows the rest of us have noticed it! Nicodemus, who famously asked Jesus how it could be possible for a man to be born again when Jesus said that doing so was necessary, is answered: You can be born again as surely as the hills wake and the flowers are born again and the animals do what animals do in spring: create new life. The earth is born again each year in spring.
The poem is written with eight rhyming trimeter couplets. –and lots of dashes. Love the dashes—don’t you –