from the Church of the Green Man… a secret grotto waterfall in Nova Scotia, Canada

The sap of Spring in the young wood a-stir
Will celebrate with green the Mother,
And every song-bird shout awhile for her;
But we are gifted, even in November
Rawest of seasons, with so huge a sense
Of her nakedly worn magnificence
We forget cruelty and past betrayal,
Heedless of where the next bright bolt may fall.”

― Robert Graves, The White Goddess: A Historical Grammar of Poetic Myth