 | Experiences |  |
39
IN MARCH.
In the March twilight, the wonderful March twilight,
Blackbirds, thrushes, sing so wild on every tree,
Sing their wildest, best, in the grey, the shy light
Break the heart with grief, with hope, with ecstasy.
Blackbirds, thrushes, sing so wild on every tree,
Sing their wildest, best, in the grey, the shy light
Break the heart with grief, with hope, with ecstasy.
In the March twilight, the wonderful grey weather,
The song troubles the founts of tears, of memory,
Snatches me from life, transports me altogether;
The winged song ringing from a yet bare tree.
The song troubles the founts of tears, of memory,
Snatches me from life, transports me altogether;
The winged song ringing from a yet bare tree.
I am wild with joy, I am hurt with grieving:
My heart goes out in a passion to you, and you
Dead this many a year: and to you who are living:
The old ways, the old days, old faces I knew.
My heart goes out in a passion to you, and you
Dead this many a year: and to you who are living:
The old ways, the old days, old faces I knew.
Now I thrill again to my love and my lover,
The doubts and exaltations, the hopes and fears,
When I still was young and was yet to discover
The quiet days, the good days that came with the years.
The doubts and exaltations, the hopes and fears,
When I still was young and was yet to discover
The quiet days, the good days that came with the years.
Thrushes, blackbirds sing, awake the guest immortal
That flutters in my breast like a bird in the cage.
My soul's awake in her cage, trembles, bids loose the portal,
Would wing her flight at last from her dull hermitage.
That flutters in my breast like a bird in the cage.
My soul's awake in her cage, trembles, bids loose the portal,
Would wing her flight at last from her dull hermitage.
Blackbirds, thrushes sing a song made in Heaven
In the March twilight, before the time of leaves,
Break the heart in my breast in the grey March even,
Trouble my soul in her cage that grieves and grieves.
In the March twilight, before the time of leaves,
Break the heart in my breast in the grey March even,
Trouble my soul in her cage that grieves and grieves.
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