 | [Poems by Woolson in] Constance Fenimore Woolson |  |
MARCH.
“March: its tree, Juniper, Its stone, Bloodstone. Its motto, ‘Courage and strength in times of danger.’”
Old Saying.
In the grey dawning across the white lake,
Where the ice-hummocks in frozen waves break,
'Mid the glittering spears of the far Northern Lights,
Like a cavalry escort of steel-coated knights,
Spanning the winter's cold gulf with an arch
Over it, rampant, rides in the wild March.
Galloping, galloping, galloping in,
Into the world with a stir and a din,
The north wind, the east wind, and west wind together,
Inbringing, inbringing the March's wild weather.
Where the ice-hummocks in frozen waves break,
'Mid the glittering spears of the far Northern Lights,
Like a cavalry escort of steel-coated knights,
Spanning the winter's cold gulf with an arch
Over it, rampant, rides in the wild March.
Galloping, galloping, galloping in,
Into the world with a stir and a din,
The north wind, the east wind, and west wind together,
Inbringing, inbringing the March's wild weather.
Hear his rough chant as he dashes along;
“Ho, ye March children, come list to my song!
Bold outlaw am I both to do and to dare,
And I fear not old Earth nor the Powers of the Air;
Winter's a dotard, and Summer's a prude,
But Spring loves me well, although I am rude.
Faltering, lingering, listening Spring—
Blushing she waits for the clang and the ring
Of my swift horse's hoofs; then forward she presses,
Repelling, returning, my boist'rous caresses.”
“Ho, ye March children, come list to my song!
Bold outlaw am I both to do and to dare,
And I fear not old Earth nor the Powers of the Air;
Winter's a dotard, and Summer's a prude,
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Faltering, lingering, listening Spring—
Blushing she waits for the clang and the ring
Of my swift horse's hoofs; then forward she presses,
Repelling, returning, my boist'rous caresses.”
“The winds are unbound and loose in the sky,
Rioting, frolicking madly on high;
Are ye able to cope with the North Wind's strong arm?
Welcome boldly his fierce grasp; 'twill do ye no harm.
He knows the children of March are my own,
Sealed with my signet of magic blood-stone.
Blood-stone, red blood-stone, green, dark and red light ...
Blood is for ardour, and stone is for might;
And the watchword borne on by West Wind, the ranger,
Is ‘Courage and strength in the moment of danger.’”
Rioting, frolicking madly on high;
Are ye able to cope with the North Wind's strong arm?
Welcome boldly his fierce grasp; 'twill do ye no harm.
He knows the children of March are my own,
Sealed with my signet of magic blood-stone.
Blood-stone, red blood-stone, green, dark and red light ...
Blood is for ardour, and stone is for might;
And the watchword borne on by West Wind, the ranger,
Is ‘Courage and strength in the moment of danger.’”
“Children of March, are ye strong, are ye strong?
Shame not the flag the West Wind bears along;
O, ye men of the March! be ye firm as the steel;
O, ye women of March! be ye loyal and leal—
Strong in your loving, and strong in your hate,
Constant, like juniper, early and late,
Juniper, juniper, juniper green,
Berries of blue set in glittering sheen,
In the winter's cold snow, in summer's hot splendour,
Unchanging, unchanging, thou heart true and tender!”
Shame not the flag the West Wind bears along;
O, ye men of the March! be ye firm as the steel;
O, ye women of March! be ye loyal and leal—
Strong in your loving, and strong in your hate,
Constant, like juniper, early and late,
Juniper, juniper, juniper green,
Berries of blue set in glittering sheen,
In the winter's cold snow, in summer's hot splendour,
Unchanging, unchanging, thou heart true and tender!”
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Singing of juniper, forward he whirled,
Galloping, galloping on through the world;
And when shivering, waking, the dull Day gazed out
From her tower in the grey clouds, she heard but the shout
Of the riotous winds as they followed in glee,
On, on to the wooing, in mad revelry,
Wooing, the wooing, the wooing of Spring—
Here's a bold wooing that makes the woods ring,
And thrills the leaf-buds though with snow overladen,
As March, the wild outlaw, bears off the Spring maiden.
Galloping, galloping on through the world;
And when shivering, waking, the dull Day gazed out
From her tower in the grey clouds, she heard but the shout
Of the riotous winds as they followed in glee,
On, on to the wooing, in mad revelry,
Wooing, the wooing, the wooing of Spring—
Here's a bold wooing that makes the woods ring,
And thrills the leaf-buds though with snow overladen,
As March, the wild outlaw, bears off the Spring maiden.
Constance Fenimore Woolson.
| [Poems by Woolson in] Constance Fenimore Woolson | |