The renewal of spring is everywhere, visable change almost hour by hour

Spring is another country. So different are these bright days from the dark days of a month ago that one might think one has moved to another land.

The blind 19th century poet Anthony Raftery (Raifteirí, an file) at the start of his paean to Spring, Anois teacht an Earraigh, arises, as if from a winter spent in the chimney corner, to set off travelling.

After St Bridget’s day, the light would be strengthening; he’d head down to Mayo, there to play his fiddle and find his youth restored.