The cherry trees are having their short burst of glory, which always makes me think of this poem.
Several times I have walked around the Mall in Washington when the cherry trees are in full bloom and said this poem to myself. It was written by A.E. Housman (1859-1937). Housman was one of the foremost classicists of his time. He was professor of Latin at University College London and later at Cambridge.
For him, poetry was always secondary to his classical studies. Generally, his poems are deeply pessimistic, preoccupied with death, with no religious consolation.
As you can see in this one, he's a young man, already acutely aware of exactly how much time he has left. Yet, when I say this poem to myself, I feel really happy, to have the cherries hung with snow, just for now. My guess is, he did too.
Loveliest of Trees
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
Fleda Brown, of Traverse City, is professor emerita, University of Delaware, and past poet laureate of Delaware. You can learn more about her on her Web site, fledabrown.com
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