Spring comes at the other end of the year in New Zealand, but it is celebrated just the same.  We could lay claim to fields of Wordsworth's daffodils.  But we often forget have our own poetry too.  What better way to celebrate a spring in full flight, than with a little Baxter, wrapped around a teacup.

Blow Wind of Fruitfulness

Blow, wind of fruitfulness,
 Blow from the buried sun:
Blow from the buried kingdom
 Where heart and mind are one.

Blow, wind of fruitfulness,
 The murmuring leavers remember;
For the deep in doorless rock
 Awaits their green September .


Blow from the wells of night:
 The blind flower breathes thy coming
Birds that are silent now
 And buds of barren springing.

Blow from beyond our day.
 The hill-borne streams complain:
Hear from their stony courses
 The great sea rise again.

Blow on the mouth of morning
 Renew the single eye:
And from remembered darkness
 our immortality.

James K. Baxter