The Eighth Sin/Ballade of March
BALLADE OF MARCH.
When the fitful sun has beckoned the crocus Up from the womb of the chill wet mould,And the sounds and scents of spring provoke us From cloisters grey and damp and old, When the fleeces of heaven are all unrolledAnd windy March gives promise of June And the world is blue and green and gold—Then hey for a bicycling afternoon!
When the quickening blood brings into focus All in our souls that is gay and boldAway from the dons and their hocus-pocus Ride where the Thames runs clean and cold Under Swinford Bridge or by Cumnor wold—On with the magical seven-league shoon! Colour and fragrance manifoldAre ours on a bicycling afternoon.
And, if the rain does fall and soak us (What did Chaucer mean when he toldOf the drought of March! Was he trying to joke us?) A wetting can be at an inn consoled. Before our wheels there lies unrolledA land of meadows and streams—too soon We will lose it: Come, would you live blindfold?Come for a bicycling afternoon!
Envoy.
O Tutors, the blinding sun awoke us From our pipes, our papers, our bookish swoon—And, lest our learning should rise and choke us We went for a bicycling afternoon!