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May 29, 2013

Tea Poetry

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II.

A cup of chamomile, spritz of lemon & squeeze of honey

Poem: Edith Sitwell's "Spring"

Spring

When spring begins, the maids in flocks

Walk in soft fields, and their sheepskin locks

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Fall shadowless, soft as music, round 

Their jonquil eyelids, and reach the ground.

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Where the small fruit-buds begin to harden

Into sweet tunes in the palace garden,

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They peck at the fruit-buds' hairy herds

With their lips like the gentle bills of birds.

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But King Midas heard the swan-bosomed sky

Say 'All is surface, and so must die.'

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And he said: 'It is spring; I will have a feast

To woo eternity; for my least

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Palace is like a berg of ice;

And the spring winds, for birds of paradise,

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With the leaping goat-footed waterfalls-cold,

Shall be served for me on a dish of gold

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By a maiden fair as an almond-tree,

With hair like the waterfalls' goat-locks; she

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Has lips like that jangling harsh pink rain,

The flower-bells that spirt on trees again.'

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In Midas' garden the simple flowers

Laugh, and the tulips are bright as the showers,

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For spring is here; the auriculas,

And the Emily-coloured primulas

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Bob in their pinafores on the grass

As they watch the gardener's daughter pass. 

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Then King Midas said, 'At last I feel 

Eternity conquered beneath my heel

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Like the flittering snake of paradise-

And you are my Eve!'- but the maiden flies,

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Like the leaping goat-footed waterfalls

Singing their cold, forlorn madrigals. 


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