 | Vigil and vision |  |
A MID-MARCH DAY.
MY heart is heavy on this mid-March day,When from the mouth of hell the East Wind blows,
With menace of immeasurable woes
Winnowing the air. Though Spring is on the way
And with its promise of the middle May,
In the rathe beds the tulip-flame foreshows
The tale of coming summer and the rose,
The time is sadder than the Winter grey.
Dead season of the snows, is't not enough
That thou shouldst fetter us for half the year
In chains of frost, but with thy counterbuff
Of blood-encurdling blasts our infant Spring
Thou thus must poison and thy phantom drear
'Twixt us intrude and Life's requickening?
| Vigil and vision | |