March Evening by Amy Lowell

Lyrics

Blue through the window burns the twilight; Heavy, through trees, blows the warm south wind Glistening, against the chill, gray sky light Wet, black branches are barred and entwined Sodden and spongy, the scarce-green grass plot Dents into pools where a foot has been Puddles lie spilt in the road a mass, not Of water, but steel, with its cold, hard sheen Faint fades the fire on the hearth, its embers Scattering wide at a stronger gust Above, the old weathercock groans, but remembers Creaking, to turn, in its centuriеd rust Dying, forlorn, in dreary sorrow Wrapping the mists round her withеring form Day sinks down; and in darkness to-morrow Travails to birth in the womb of the storm