Dear Readers, poems about spring can sometimes be a bit too full of all those nice things like ‘hope for the future’ and ‘rebirth’ and ‘gosh, isn’t it pretty’ and all these things are true, but I must admit that nothing gets me chortling quite as much as this poem by Edna St Vincent Millay. I love the last two lines in particular, though the line about the ‘uncarpeted stairs’ gives me a frisson since I broke my leg. See what you think.

Spring
BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.