March

March written by William Henry Davies

Nature Poems (1908)

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There's not one leaf can say to me
It shines with this year's greenery.
A stoat-like Wind, without a sound,
Doth creep and startle from the ground
The brown leaves, and they fly about,
And settle, till again found out.
But Spring, for very sure, is born:
E'en though I see, this misty morn,
The face of Phoebus cold and white,
As hers who sits his throne at night;
For I can hear how birds - not bold
Enough to sing full songs - do scold
Their timid hearts to make a try.
The unseen hand of Spring doth lie
Warm on my face; the air is sweet
And calm; it has a pleasant heat
That makes my two hands swell, as though
They had gloves on. Spring makes no show
Of leaves and blossoms yet, but she
Has worked upon this blood in me;
And everything of flesh I meet
Can feel, it seems, her presence sweet.

This work is in the public domain in countries where the copyright term is the author's life plus 70 years or less.