Old winter trees are etched against a sky Gray like some cloak the wind has tossed aside. Spring or winter -- which, the mad brash crows are cawing. A robin might be nesting in a hedgerow Where some belated drift of snow is thawing. Wild mooded artist of the year -- March. Spring or winter -- which? Could poet half so wildly sing One line of winter, one of spring, Or hold the bold mad rhythm of the wind Against his art he had forever sinned. Imprison not in stately measures The high wild beating of her storm-tried heart; -- Intone the mad abandon of her song No poet can with rhyme or reason. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FAIREST THING IN MORTAL EYES by CHARLES D'ORLEANS PICTURES FROM APPLEDORE: 3 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE OLD SERGEANT by BYRON FORCEYTHE WILLSON LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 8. THE EVICTION by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM WHY? by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON TO ROBERT GRAHAM OF FINTRY by ROBERT BURNS |