Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ROUNDELS OF THE YEAR by JOHN DRINKWATER

Poet Analysis

First Line: THE SPRING IS PASSING THROUGH THE LAND
Last Line: ARE YOU FOR WHOM MY SONG IS SUNG.
Subject(s): ROUNDELS;
@3I caught the changes of the year
In soft and fragile nets of song,
For you to whom my days belong.

For you to whom each day is dear
Of all the high processional throng,
I caught the changes of the year
In soft and fragile nets of song.

And here some sound of beauty, here
Some note of ancient, ageless wrong
Reshaping as my lips were strong,
I caught the changes of the year
In soft and fragile nets of song,
For you to whom my days belong.@1

I

The spring is passing through the land
In web of ghostly green arrayed,
And blood is warm in man and maid.

The arches of desire have spanned
The barren ways, the debt is paid,
The spring is passing through the land
In web of ghostly green arrayed.

Sweet scents along the winds are fanned
From shadowy wood and secret glade
Where beauty blossoms unafraid,
The spring is passing through the land
In web of ghostly green arrayed
And blood is warm in man and maid.

II

Proud insolent June with burning lips
Holds riot now from sea to sea,
And shod in sovran gold is she.

To the full flood of reaping slips
The seeding-tide by God's decree,
Proud insolent June with burning lips
Holds riot now from sea to sea.

And all the goodly fellowships
Of bird and bloom and beast and tree
Are gallant of her company --
Proud insolent June with burning lips
Holds riot now from sea to sea,
And shod in sovran gold is she.

III

The loaded sheaves are harvested,
The sheep are in the stubbled fold,
The tale of labour crowned is told.

The wizard of the year has spread
A glory over wood and wold,
The loaded sheaves are harvested,
The sheep are in the stubbled fold.

The yellow apples and the red
Bear down the boughs, the hazels hold
No more their fruit in cups of gold.
The loaded sheaves are harvested,
The sheep are in the stubbled fold,
The tale of labour crowned is told.

IV

The year is lapsing into time
Along a deep and songless gloom,
Unchapleted of leaf or bloom.

And mute between the dusk and prime
The diligent earth resets her loom, --
The year is lapsing into time
Along a deep and songless gloom.

While o'er the snows the seasons chime
Their golden hopes to reillume
The brief eclipse about the tomb,
The year is lapsing into time
Along a deep and songless gloom
Unchapleted of leaf or bloom.

V

@3Not wise as cunning scholars are,
With curious words upon your tongue,
Are you for whom my song is sung.

But you are wise of cloud and star,
And winds and boughs all blossom-hung,
Not wise as cunning scholars are,
With curious words upon your tongue.

Surely, clear child of earth, some far
Dim Dryad-haunted groves among,
Your lips to lips of knowledge clung --
Not wise as cunning scholars are,
With curious words upon your tongue,
Are you for whom my song is sung.@1



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