[Congressional Record Volume 152, Number 34 (Thursday, March 16, 2006)]
[Senate]
[Pages S2295-S2296]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




                               SPRINGTIME

  Mr. BYRD. Mr. President, Monday, March 20, marks the vernal equinox 
and the first day of spring. On Monday, night and day are equal in 
length, marking the midpoint of our climb out of the dark winter into 
the glorious long days of spring.

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  Lovely, lovely spring. It takes a cold heart indeed not to love the 
springtime.

     Spring is the morning of the year,
     And summer is the noontime bright;
     The autumn is the evening clear,
     That comes before the winter's night.

     The Golden Rod, by Frank Dempster Sherman.

  Though most of the United States has enjoyed an unseasonable winter 
with mild temperatures and even thunderstorms in February, it is 
comforting to see the plants and animals around us heeding the 
celestial timetable even if the mercury in the thermometer is not. 
Right on schedule, this year as last year and in all the years before, 
the crocus and the daffodil burst through the leaf mold and lawn 
thatch, staining the subdued winter landscape with vibrant color, like 
Easter eggs hidden in the grass. In time for Saint Patrick's day, the 
grass put on a deep cloak of Irish green.
  Day by day, the skeletal tree limbs and branches are swelling and 
budding with soft, new leaves whose iconic color can only be named 
``spring green.''
  Next week, the Nation's Capital will be celebrating the Cherry 
Blossom Festival. These lovely trees, a gift from the Government of 
Japan, delight jaded commuters as well as visitors with the ethereal 
beauty of their graceful blooms reflected against the dark water of the 
Potomac River or framing the elegant marble columns of the Jefferson 
Memorial.

     Oh, fair to see
     Bloom-laden cherry tree,
     Arrayed in sunny white:
     An April day's delight,
     Oh, fair to see!

     Oh, Fair to See by Christina Rossetti.

  Deep within the earth, the soil warms, ready for priming for the 
germination of crop and flower seeds. The ageless cycles of agriculture 
and horticulture are rumbling into action across West Virginia and the 
Nation.
  The Bible says, ``The hay appeareth, and the tender grass sheweth 
itself, And herbs of the mountains are gathered.'' I know that I am not 
alone in appreciating the rhythmic patterns of a freshly plowed field 
while anticipating the mouthwatering goodness of the crops to come. For 
2,000 years and more, mankind has rejoiced in the promise of spring. 
Even now, home gardeners are sowing early spring crops of peas and 
starting more tender shoots under lights. Fertilizer and weed killer 
are in short supply at garden stores, while bedding plants are starting 
to arrive.
  And it is not just the farmers and gardeners among us who revel in 
the signs of emerging springtime. All of God's creatures feel the pull 
of the warming sun, the warming of the waters, the melting of the snow 
and ice. The penciled Vees of Canada geese hew to the seasonal 
timetable as their formations power their way northward, honking to 
announce their passing as they drive to their northern nesting grounds. 
The dainty goldfinches that mob our winter feeders are changing, too, 
shedding their drab winter garb for brilliant springtime yellow as they 
chatter and flit about. As the longer, warmer days advance, more and 
more birds appear, and the sky fills with their vernal songfest. The 
poet, Percy Bysshe Shelley, famously captured the beauty of birdsong in 
his poem, ``To a Skylark:''

     Hail to thee, blithe spirit!
     Bird thou never wert,
     That from heaven, or near it,
     Pourest thy full heart
     In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

     Higher still and higher
     From the earth thou springest
     Like a cloud of fire;
     The blue deep thou wingest,
     And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

     In the golden lightning
     Of the setting sun
     O'er which clouds are brightening,
     Thou dost float and run
     Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

  Deer, once a common sight along the roadsides and fields in the later 
afternoon dusk, are retreating into the woods, nibbling new shoots as 
they seek out hidden coverts in which to secret their wobbly-legged 
fawns. The deer's place along the road seems, alas, to have been taken 
over by amorous skunks seeking their springtime love.
  In cities as well as rural areas, the spring shows itself. In the 
stone flower beds around the Capitol, the tulip bulbs are sending green 
spears up through the soil as the squirrels race about in an exuberant 
display of spring energy. The spring sunshine and warmth energize us 
all. Parks and playgrounds are welcoming young shoots of humankind to 
play among the swings and slides while contented parents keep watch. 
Even our dogs affect a more jaunty air as they soak up the fresh scents 
and nibble on the green shoots of new grass. Later, as the summer heat 
saps our energy and lawn chores become more tiresome, as the children 
get sweaty and the dogs pant in the shade, we may long for the dark 
cold days of winter. But now, in the gentle warmth of spring sunshine, 
it seems as if our prayers are answered with the blooming of the 
flowers. Winter is passing, and spring is here. Welcome, welcome 
spring.
  Mr. President, I close with another poem about spring. This one from 
Robert Frost, one of the 20th century's leading American poets. His 
poem, ``A Prayer in Spring,'' beautifully captures the ephemeral 
pleasure of an early spring day with a word of thanks to the Creator of 
it all.

                           A Prayer in Spring

     Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
     And give us not to think so far away
     As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
     All simply in the springing of the year.

     Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
     Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
     And make us happy in the happy bees,
     The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

     And make us happy in the darting bird
     That suddenly above the bees is heard,
     The meteor that thrusts with needle bill,
     And off a blossom in mid-air stands still.

     For this is love and nothing else is love,
     The which it is reserved for God above
     To sanctify to what far ends He will,
     But which it only needs that we fulfill.

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