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William Blake. 1757–1827

To Spring

O THOU with dewy locks, who lookest down
Through the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!
 
The hills tell each other, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turn'd
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth
And let thy holy feet visit our clime!
 
Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our lovesick land that mourns for thee.
 
O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languish'd head,
Whose modest tresses are bound up for thee.


Spring

A poem by Sophie Bashford (sophiebashford.com). I was inspired to read it by my Twin.

Dear Precious Soul

Without you, there is no fire. Without me, there is no rain. Without us, there is no growth, for we grow together inside and out and you are the epitome of me.

When you cry, I feel a pain in my heart. When you laugh, my soul fills with joy. There is only completeness within your embrace for only you, my twin, can make me whole.

Nothing matters but being in balance with you. Chaos ensues when we are apart. There is no day without you love and without you love at night, there is no moon.

- Helen Demetriou

Helen Demetriou Reading 1

Our faces are our unbroken birth essences here.

No more drugs.
No more drama.
No more ego.
No more.

Just being.

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