Balaam, from My Mother is an Old Elephant

I rest under no roof.
I am the dusty traveller,
the journey, the road,
the pothole and the hoof.
I am Balaam and the voice I hear
is my breathing creature
plodding on,
eating straw,
seeing angels.
 

Spring, by Gerard Manley Hopkins

While we wait for warmth to return, here's a poem by one of my all-time favourite poets, Gerard Manley Hopkins.

Spring

Nothing is so beautiful as Spring—
   When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
   Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
   The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
   The descending blue ; that blue is all in a rush
With richness ; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
 
What is all this juice and all this joy ?
   A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden.—Have, get, before it cloy,
 
   Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
   Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.