Norman MacCaig relishes the advent of spring with his customary charm and originality.

And how cleverly he nails the personality of the blackbird! The lines, dating from 1979, are included in the splendid posthumous volume of his poems, edited by his son Ewen and published by Polygon in 2005.

SPRING DAY

That green alone

proves the foolishness of King Midas.

Spring wears no ass's ears. Its gold

will be buried and come up again

as snowdrops and tender grass blades.

A blackbird on a roof top

is warblingly meditating

on the philosophical concept

of being a blackbird.

And outrageous energies

swarm on the gean tree;

they bend their backs and slowly haul out

the first, the second bud.