The days grow long, the mountains
Beautiful. The south wind blows
Over blossoming meadows.
Newly arrived swallows dart
Over the steaming marshes.
Ducks in pairs drowse on the warm sand.
- Tu Fu (712-770), translated by Kenneth Rexroth, from One Hundred Poems from the Chinese

 . . .

The woods changing now in the early spring sun
Robins hunt for worms between patches of snow
Young red-winged blackbirds staking territory.

The rivers swollen
Big chunks of ice plunge over waterfalls.
Soon, very soon, the ice will be gone
I will reintroduce myself to the sweet-smelling river
And listen to birds sing of winter survived
And of new life to come
Sing to that place of sacred beauty.