Poems (Trask)/March
For works with similar titles, see March.
MARCH.
Mud underfoot, fogs overhead, Rain, drizzle, gloom, and mist, Winter and Spring are reconciled, Have met again and kissed. Uncertain, fickle, fierce, and false, A monster in his rage Is March, a lion wild to break The boundary of his cage.
Parent of winds and frantic storms, Patron of sulky nights, When all the sky is bloody red With dancing Northern Lights; Repenting now and then, to show Suns like the suns of June, And soft, cerulean, placid skies Above a placid moon.
White snows, forgetful of the time, Drifting across the hills, And spurious ice bridging across Emancipated rills; Touches of fiercest polar cold, Blasts from boreal shores, Sweeping with fiendish rage and spite The dreary waste of moors,
Crushing with brutal cold the flowers That fain would burst to bloom, Dooming all vegetating things Unto a common tomb, Nipping with frosty breath the life Of bud, and sprout, and leaf; But little care we for his power, Knowing his reign is brief.