Two contrasting versions of April
"The Wasteland" by T. S. Eliot
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.....
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water...
From the Canterbury Tales "The General Prologue" by G. Chaucer
What that April with his showres soote
The droughte of March hath perced to the roote
And bathed ever viene in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendered is the flowr;
What Zephyrus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
the tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath the Ram his halve cour yronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye
That sleepen al the night with open ye-
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgramages
Not too hard to see which is this years version.
Vale of the Great Dairies
South Dorset
Elevation 60m 197ft