The Enkindled Spring
D. H. Lawrence
This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.
And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that's gone astray, and is lost.
A poem well worth knowing, if you don't already. Funny, many of today’s writers (me included) have a hard time in our own practice countenancing such “poetese” (archaic? trite?) word order as “in bonfires green” – but here it works, not only for the purposes of rhyme but explosive effect. It seems that our predilection towards a conversational tone actually hobbles us by restricting our word order choices...