March month of `many weathers` wildly comes In hail and snow and rain and threatning hums And floods: while often at his cottage door The shepherd stands to hear the distant roar Loosd from the rushing mills and river locks Wi thundering sound and over powering shocks And headlong hurry thro the meadow brigs Brushing the leaning sallows fingering twigs In feathery foam and eddy hissing chase Rolling a storm oertaken travellers pace From bank to bank along the meadow leas Spreading and shining like to little seas While in the pale sunlight a watery brood Of swopping white birds flock about the flood Yet winter seems half weary of its toil And round the ploughman on the elting soil Will thread a minutes sunshine wild and warm Thro the raggd places of the swimming storm And oft the shepherd in his path will spye The little daisey in the wet grass lye That to the peeping sun enlivens gay Like Labour smiling on an holiday And where the stunt bank fronts the southern sky By lanes or brooks where sunbeams love to lye A cowslip peep will open faintly coy Soon seen and gatherd by a wandering boy A tale of spring around the distant haze Seems muttering pleasures wi the lengthening days Morn wakens mottld oft wi may day stains And shower drops hang the grassy sprouting plains And on the naked thorns of brassy hue Drip glistning like a summer dream of dew While from the hill side freshing forest drops As one might walk upon their thickening tops And buds wi young hopes promise seemly swells Where woodman that in wild seclusion dwells Wi chopping toil the coming spring decieves Of many dancing shadows flowers and leaves And in his pathway down the mossy wood Crushes wi hasty feet full many a bud Of early primrose yet if timely spied Shelterd some old half rotten stump beside The sight will cheer his solitery hour And urge his feet to stride and save the flower Muffld in baffles leathern coat and gloves The hedger toils oft scaring rustling doves From out the hedgrows who in hunger browze The chockolate berrys on the ivy boughs And flocking field fares speckld like the thrush Picking the red awe from the sweeing bush That come and go on winters chilling wing And seem to share no sympathy wi spring The stooping ditcher in the water stands Letting the furrowd lakes from off the lands Or splashing cleans the pasture brooks of mud Where many a wild weed freshens into bud And sprouting from the bottom purply green The water cresses neath the wave is seen Which the old woman gladly drags to land Wi reaching long rake in her tottering hand The ploughman mawls along the doughy sloughs And often stop their songs to clean their ploughs From teazing twitch that in the spongy soil Clings round the colter terryfying toil The sower striding oer his dirty way Sinks anckle deep in pudgy sloughs and clay And oer his heavy hopper stoutly leans Strewing wi swinging arms the pattering beans Which soon as aprils milder weather gleams Will shoot up green between the furroed seams The driving boy glad when his steps can trace The swelling edding as a resting place Slings from his clotted shoes the dirt around And feign woud rest him on the solid ground And sings when he can meet the parting green Of rushy balks that bend the lands between While close behind em struts the nauntling crow And daws whose heads seem powderd oer wi snow To seek the worms-and rooks a noisey guest That on the wind rockd elms prepares her nest On the fresh furrow often drops to pull The twitching roots and gathering sticks and wool Neath trees whose dead twigs litter to the wind And gaps where stray sheep left their coats behind While ground larks on a sweeing clump of rushes Or on the top twigs of the oddling bushes Chirp their `cree creeing` note that sounds of spring And sky larks meet the sun wi flittering wing Soon as the morning opes its brightning eye Large clouds of sturnels blacken thro the sky From oizer holts about the rushy fen And reedshaw borders by the river Nen And wild geese regiments now agen repair To the wet bosom of broad marshes there In marching coloms and attention all Listning and following their ringleaders call The shepherd boy that hastens now and then From hail and snow beneath his sheltering den Of flags or file leavd sedges tyd in sheaves Or stubble shocks oft as his eye percieves Sun threads struck out wi momentery smiles Wi fancy thoughts his lonliness beguiles Thinking the struggling winter hourly bye As down the edges of the distant sky The hailstorm sweeps-and while he stops to strip The stooping hedgbriar of its lingering hip He hears the wild geese gabble oer his head And pleasd wi fancys in his musings bred He marks the figurd forms in which they flye And pausing follows wi a wandering eye Likening their curious march in curves or rows To every letter which his memory knows While far above the solitary crane Swings lonly to unfrozen dykes again Cranking a jarring mellancholy cry Thro the wild journey of the cheerless sky Full oft at early seasons mild and fair March bids farewell wi garlands in her hair Of hazzel tassles woodbines hairy sprout And sloe and wild plumb blossoms peeping out In thickset knotts of flowers preparing gay For aprils reign a mockery of may That soon will glisten on the earnest eye Like snow white cloaths hung in the sun to drye The old dame often stills her burring wheel When the bright sun will thro the window steal And gleam upon her face and dancing fall In diamond shadows on the picturd wall While the white butterflye as in amaze Will settle on the glossy glass to gaze And oddling bee oft patting passing bye As if they care to tell her spring was nigh And smiling glad to see such things once more Up she will get and potter to the door And look upon the trees beneath the eves Sweet briar and ladslove swelling into leaves And damsin trees thick notting into bloom And goosberry blossoms on the bushes come And stooping down oft views her garden beds To see the spring flowers pricking out their heads And from her apron strings she`ll often pull Her sissars out an early bunch to cull For flower pots on the window board to stand Where the old hour glass spins its thread of sand And maids will often mark wi laughing eye In elder where they hang their cloaths to drye The sharp eyd robin hop from grain to grain Singing its little summer notes again As a sweet pledge of Spring the little lambs Bleat in the varied weather round their dams Or hugh molehill or roman mound behind Like spots of snow lye shelterd from the wind While the old yoes bold wi paternal cares Looses their fears and every danger dares Who if the shepherds dog but turns his eye And stops behind a moment passing bye Will stamp draw back and then their threats repeat Urging defiance wi their stamping feet And stung wi cares hopes cannot recconsile They stamp and follow till he leaps a stile Or skulking from their threats betakes to flight And wi the master lessens out of sight Clowns mark the threatning rage of march pass bye And clouds wear thin and ragged in the sky While wi less sudden and more lasting smiles The growing sun their hopes of spring beguiles Who often at its end remark wi pride Days lengthen in their visits a `cocks stride` Dames clean their candlesticks and set them bye Glad of the makeshift light that eves supply The boy returning home at night from toil Down lane and close oer footbrig gate and style1 Oft trembles into fear and stands to hark The waking fox renew his short gruff bark While badgers eccho their dread evening shrieks And to his thrilling thoughts in terror speaks And shepherds that wi in their hulks remain Night after night upon the chilly plain To watch the dropping lambs that at all hours Come in the quaking blast like early flowers Demanding all the shepherds care who find Warm hedge side spots and take them from the wind And round their necks in wary caution tyes Long shreds of rags in red or purple dyes Thats meant in danger as a safty spell Like the old yoe that wears a tinkling bell The sneaking foxes from his thefts to fright That often seizes the young lambs at night These when they in their nightly watchings hear The badgers shrieks can hardly stifle fear They list the noise from woodlands dark recess Like helpless shrieking woman in distress And oft as such fears fancying mystery Believes the dismal yelling sounds to be For superstition hath its thousand tales To people all his midnight woods and vales And the dread spot from whence the dismal noise Mars the night musings of their dark employs Owns its sad tale to realize their fear At which their hearts in boyhood achd to hear A maid at night by treacherous love decoyd Was in that shrieking wood years past destroyd She went twas said to meet the waiting swain And home and friends ne`er saw her face again Mid brakes and thorns that crowded round the dell And matting weeds that had no tongues to tell He murderd her alone at dead midnight While the pale moon threw round her sickly light And loud shrieks left the thickets slumbers deep That only scard the little birds from sleep When the pale murderers terror frowning eye Told its dread errand that the maid shoud dye Mid thick black thorns her secret grave was made And there ere night the murderd girl was laid When no one saw the deed but god and he And moonlight sparkling thro the sleeping tree Around-the red breast might at morning steel There for the worm to meet his morning meal In fresh turnd moulds that first beheld the sun Nor knew the deed that dismal night had done Such is the tale that superstition gives And in her midnight memory ever lives That makes the boy run by wi wild affright And shepherds startle on their rounds at night Now love teazd maidens from their droning wheel At the red hour of sunset sliving steals From scolding dames to meet their swains agen Tho water checks their visits oer the plain They slive where no one sees some wall behind Or orchard apple trees that stops the wind To talk about springs pleasures hoveing nigh And happy rambles when the roads get dry The insect world now sunbeams higher climb Oft dream of spring and wake before their time Blue flyes from straw stacks crawling scarce alive And bees peep out on slabs before the hive Stroaking their little legs across their wings And venturing short flight where the snow drop hings Its silver bell-and winter aconite Wi buttercup like flowers that shut at night And green leaf frilling round their cups of gold Like tender maiden muffld from the cold They sip and find their honey dreams are vain And feebly hasten to their hives again And butterflys by eager hopes undone Glad as a child come out to greet the sun Lost neath the shadow of a sudden shower Nor left to see tomorrows april flower .SourceThe script ran 0.003 seconds.
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