English Poetry. William Morris. March. Уильям Моррис.

March

Slayer of the winter, art thou here again?
O welcome, thou that's bring'st the summer nigh!
The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain,
Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.
Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dry
Make April ready for the throstle's song,
Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong!

Yea, welcome March! and though I die ere June,
Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise,
Striving to swell the burden of the tune
That even now I hear thy brown birds raise,
Unmindful of the past or coming days;
Who sing: 'Oh joy! a new year is begun:
What happiness to look upon the sun!'

Ah, what begetteth all this storm of bliss
But death himself, who crying solemnly,
E'en from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness,
Bids us 'Rejoice, lest pleasureless ye die,
Within a little time must ye go by.
Stretch forth your open hands, and while ye live
Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give.'

William Morris’s other poems:

Poems of other poets with the same name (Стихотворения других поэтов с таким же названием):

Edward Thomas (Эдвард Томас) March (“Now I know that Spring will come again”)

Thomas Tusser (Томас Тассер) March (“In March sow thy barley, thy land not too cold”)

William Bryant (Уильям Брайант) March (“The stormy March is come at last”)

Isabella Crawford (Изабелла Кроуфорд) March (“Shall Thor with his hammer”)

John Payne (Джон Пейн) March (“MARCH comes at last, the labouring lands to free”)

To the dedicated English version of this website