The Eighth Sin/Ballade of March

by Christopher Morley

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 unrolled
And 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 bold
Away 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 manifold
Are ours on a bicycling afternoon.

And, if the rain does fall and soak us
 (What did Chaucer mean when he told
Of the drought of March! Was he trying to joke us?)
 A wetting can be at an inn consoled.
 Before our wheels there lies unrolled
A 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!