I was poking around for a poem by Philip Larkin about spring, and I found this one a site called sundeepdougal:
by Philip Larkin
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old ? No, they die too.
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
Copyright Estate of Philip Larkin
Wow, much to like in this poem, including the terrific fourth line, "Their green is a kind of grief," and the image, "the unresting castles thresh/In fullgrown thickness . . ."
Philip Larkin: Collected Poems