Your spouse not labored-at, nor spun.
SPRING
By Gerard Hopkins, S.J.
Nothing is so beautiful as spring—
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush:
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy pear-tree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush