Mid-March

Lizette Woodworth Reese 1856 (Waverly) – 1935



It is too early for white boughs, too late
For snows. From out the hedge the wind lets fall
A few last flakes, ragged and delicate.
Down the stripped roads the maples start their small,
Soft, ’wildering fires. Stained are the meadow stalks
A rich and deepening red. The willow tree
Is woolly. In deserted garden-walks
The lean bush crouching hints old royalty,
Feels some June stir in the sharp air and knows
Soon ’twill leap up and show the world a rose.

The days go out with shouting; nights are loud;
Wild, warring shapes the wood lifts in the cold;
The moon’s a sword of keen, barbaric gold,
Plunged to the hilt into a pitch black cloud.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 21, 2023

36 sec read
51

Quick analysis:

Scheme XAXABCBCDD EFFE
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 642
Words 120
Stanzas 2
Stanza Lengths 10, 4

Lizette Woodworth Reese

Lizette Woodworth Reese was an American poet. more…

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