Written In March

Related poetry:

1. The Plowboy AFTER the last red sunset glimmer, Black on the line of a low hill rise, Formed into moving shadows, I saw A plowboy and two horses lined against the gray, Plowing in the dusk the last furrow. The turf had a gleam of brown, And smell of soil was in the air, And, cool and […]...
2. Against Winter The truth is dark under your eyelids. What are you going to do about it? The birds are silent; there’s no one to ask. All day long you’ll squint at the gray sky. When the wind blows you’ll shiver like straw. A meek little lamb you grew your wool Till they came after you with […]...
3. A March Snow Let the old snow be covered with the new: The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden. Let it be hidden wholly from our view By pure white flakes, all trackless and untrodden. When Winter dies, low at the sweet Spring’s feet Let him be mantled in a clean, white sheet. Let the old […]...
4. An Army Corps on the March WITH its cloud of skirmishers in advance, With now the sound of a single shot, snapping like a whip, and now an irregular volley, The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on; Glittering dimly, toiling under the sun-the dust-cover’d men, In columns rise and fall to the undulations of the ground, […]...
5. A Calendar of Sonnets: March Month which the warring ancients strangely styled The month of war, as if in their fierce ways Were any month of peace! in thy rough days I find no war in Nature, though the wild Winds clash and clang, and broken boughs are piled As feet of writhing trees. The violets raise Their heads without […]...
6. March The Sun at noon to higher air, Unharnessing the silver Pair That late before his chariot swam, Rides on the gold wool of the Ram. So braver notes the storm-cock sings To start the rusted wheel of things, And brutes in field and brutes in pen Leap that the world goes round again. The boys […]...
7. March The sun is hotter than the top ledge in a steam bath; The ravine, crazed, is rampaging below. Spring that corn-fed, husky milkmaid Is busy at her chores with never a letup. The snow is wasting (pernicious anemia See those branching veinlets of impotent blue?) Yet in the cowbarn life is burbling, steaming, And the […]...
8. A March in the Ranks, Hard-prest A MARCH in the ranks hard-prest, and the road unknown; A route through a heavy wood, with muffled steps in the darkness; Our army foil’d with loss severe, and the sullen remnant retreating; Till after midnight glimmer upon us, the lights of a dim-lighted building; We come to an open space in the woods, and […]...
9. A Song at Cock-Crow The first time that Peter denied his Lord He shrank from the cudgel, the scourge and the cord, But followed far off to see what they would do, Till the cock crew till the cock crew After Gethsemane, till the cock crew! The first time that Peter denied his Lord ‘Twas only a maid in […]...
10. It Is March It is March and black dust falls out of the books Soon I will be gone The tall spirit who lodged here has Left already On the avenues the colorless thread lies under Old prices When you look back there is always the past Even when it has vanished But when you look forward With […]...
11. March 1 I could stare for hours At her, the woman stepping Out of her bath, breasts Bare, towel around her waist, Before I knew she was you In that one-bedroom in The Village sunny and cold That Friday we woke up Slowly & our breakfast table Arranged itself into A still life with irises In a […]...
12. The End Of March For John Malcolm Brinnin and Bill Read: Duxbury It was cold and windy, scarcely the day To take a walk on that long beach Everything was withdrawn as far as possible, Indrawn: the tide far out, the ocean shrunken, Seabirds in ones or twos. The rackety, icy, offshore wind Numbed our faces on one side; […]...
13. Mad Day In March Beaten like an old hound Whimpering by the stove, I complicate the pain That smarts with promised love. The oilstove falls, the rain, Forecast, licks at my wound; Ice forms, clips the green shoot, And strikes the wren house mute. May commoner and king, The barren bride and nun Begrudge the season’s dues. May children […]...
14. Lines Written In The Belief That The Ancient Roman Festival Of The Dead Was Called Ambarvalia Swings the way still by hollow and hill, And all the world’s a song; “She’s far,” it sings me, “but fair,” it rings me, “Quiet,” it laughs, “and strong!” Oh! spite of the miles and years between us, Spite of your chosen part, I do remember; and I go With laughter in my heart. So […]...
15. MARCH THE snow-flakes fall in showers, The time is absent still, When all Spring’s beauteous flowers, When all Spring’s beauteous flowers Our hearts with joy shall fill. With lustre false and fleeting The sun’s bright rays are thrown; The swallow’s self is cheating: The swallow’s self is cheating, And why? He comes alone! Can I e’er […]...
16. Right in Front of the Army “Where ‘ave you been this week or more, ‘Aven’t seen you about the war’? Thought perhaps you was at the rear Guarding the waggons.” “What, us? No fear! Where have we been? Why, bless my heart, Where have we been since the bloomin’ start? Right in the front of the army, Battling day and night! […]...
17. March 26, 1974 R. Frost 100th B’day The air was soft, the ground still cold. In wet dull pastures where I strolled Was something I could not believe. Dead grass appeared to slide and heave, Though still too frozen-flat to stir, And rocks to twitch, and all to blur. What was this rippling of the land? Was matter […]...
18. Of the Mean and Sure Estate My mother’s maids, when they did sew and spin, They sang sometime a song of the field mouse, That, for because her livelood was but thin, Would needs go seek her townish sister’s house. She thought herself endurèd too much pain; The stormy blasts her cave so sore did souse That when the furrows swimmèd […]...
19. Crying to be written Dawn has reached the ridges to the north and a thin Line of light chased the night west; it is the best Time of day for me – a cup of coffee, Benson & Scud Pretending to sleep in their baskets at my feet, I am seated, ready to write knowing the lounge fire Is […]...
20. Waking In March Last night, again, I dreamed My children were back at home, Small boys huddled in their separate beds, And I went from one to the other Listening to their breathing regular, Almost soundless until a white light Hardened against the bedroom wall, The light of Los Angeles burning south Of here, going at last as […]...
21. Good Friday O my chief good, How shall I measure out thy blood? How shall I count what thee befell, And each grief tell? Shall I thy woes Number according to thy foes? Or, since one star show’d thy first breath, Shall all thy death? Or shall each leaf, Which falls in Autumn, score a grief? Or […]...
22. The Spring Now that the winter’s gone, the earth hath lost Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream Upon the silver lake or crystal stream; But the warm sun thaws the benumbed earth, And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth To the dead swallow; wakes in […]...
23. Satire II:The Country Mouse and the Town Mouse MY mother’s maids, when they did sew and spin, They sang sometime a song of the field mouse, That for because her livelood was but thin [livelihood] Would needs go seek her townish sister’s house. She thought herself endured to much pain: The stormy blasts her cave so sore did souse That when the furrows […]...
24. 335. Song-Fragment-Johnie lad, Cock up your Beaver WHEN first my brave Johnie lad came to this town, He had a blue bonnet that wanted the crown; But now he has gotten a hat and a feather, Hey, brave Johnie lad, cock up your beaver! Cock up your beaver, and cock it fu’ sprush, We’ll over the border, and gie them a brush; […]...
25. The March Of The Dead The cruel war was over oh, the triumph was so sweet! We watched the troops returning, through our tears; There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet glittering street, And you scarce could hear the music for the cheers. And you scarce could see the house-tops for the flags that flew between; The bells were […]...
26. Lines Written at Thorp Green That summer sun, whose genial glow Now cheers my drooping spirit so Must cold and distant be, And only light our northern clime With feeble ray, before the time I long so much to see. And this soft whispering breeze that now So gently cools my fevered brow, This too, alas, must turn To a […]...
27. Bards of Passion and of Mirth, written on the Blank Page before Beaumont and Fletcher's Tragi-Comedy 'The Fair Maid of the Inn&#039 BARDS of Passion and of Mirth, Ye have left your souls on earth! Have ye souls in heaven too, Doubled-lived in regions new? Yes, and those of heaven commune With the spheres of sun and moon; With the noise of fountains wondrous, And the parle of voices thund’rous; With the whisper of heaven’s trees And […]...
28. II. Written at Bamborough Castle YE holy tow’rs, that crown the azure deep, Still may ye shade the wave-worn rock sublime, Though, hurrying silent by, relentless Time Assail you, and the winter Whirlwind’s sweep! For far from blazing Grandeur’s crowded halls, Here Charity hath fix’d her chosen seat, Oft listening tearful when the wild winds beat, With hollow bodings, round […]...
29. On the March So the time seems come at last, And the drums go rolling past, And above them in the sunlight Labour’s banners float and flow; They are marching with the sun, But I look in vain for one Of the men who fought for freedom more than fifteen years ago. They were men who did the […]...
30. February: The Boy Breughel The birches stand in their beggar’s row: Each poor tree Has had its wrists nearly Torn from the clear sleeves of bone, These icy trees Are hanging by their thumbs Under a sun That will begin to heal them soon, Each will climb out Of its own blue, oval mouth; The river groans, Two birds […]...
31. Love Letter Written In A Burning Building I am in a crate, the crate that was ours, Full of white shirts and salad greens, The icebox knocking at our delectable knocks, And I wore movies in my eyes, And you wore eggs in your tunnel, And we played sheets, sheets, sheets All day, even in the bathtub like lunatics. But today I […]...
32. On a Dead Child Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee, With promise of strength and manhood full and fair! Though cold and stark and bare, The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee. Thy mother’s treasure wert thou;-alas! no longer To visit her heart with wondrous joy; to be Thy father’s pride:-ah, […]...
33. Composed Upon Westminster Bridge Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky, […]...
34. On Receiving News of the War Snow is a strange white word. No ice or frost Has asked of bud or bird For Winter’s cost. Yet ice and frost and snow From earth to sky This Summer land doth know. No man knows why. In all men’s hearts it is. Some spirit old Hath turned with malign kiss Our lives to […]...
35. Mont Blanc: Lines Written in the Vale of Chamouni I The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark now glittering now reflecting gloom Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings Of waters with a sound but half its own, Such as a feeble brook will oft assume, In […]...
36. Written On Sunday Morning Go thou and seek the House of Prayer! I to the Woodlands wend, and there In lovely Nature see the GOD OF LOVE. The swelling organ’s peal Wakes not my soul to zeal, Like the wild music of the wind-swept grove. The gorgeous altar and the mystic vest Rouse not such ardor in my breast, […]...
37. Elegy Written In A Country Churchyard The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning […]...
38. The Battle of Tel-el-Kebir Ye sons of Great Britain, come join with me, And sing in praise of Sir Garnet Wolseley; Sound drums and trumpets cheerfully, For he has acted most heroically. Therefore loudly his praises sing Until the hills their echoes back doth ring; For he is a noble hero bold, And an honour to his Queen and […]...
39. Godwin James Harry Wilmans! You who fell in a swamp Near Manila, following the flag, You were not wounded by the greatness of a dream, Or destroyed by ineffectual work, Or driven to madness by Satanic snags; You were not torn by aching nerves, Nor did you carry great wounds to your old age. You did not […]...
40. Lines Written Beneath An Elm In The Churchyard Of Harrow Spot of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh, Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky; Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod, With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod; With those who, scattered far, perchance deplore, Like me, the happy scenes they knew before: Oh! as I trace again […]...