letra de march evening by amy lowell - ghizela rowe
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blue through the window burns the twilight;
heavy, through trees, blows the warm south wind
glistening, against the chill, gray sky light
wet, black branches are barred and entwined
sodden and spongy, the scarce-green grass plot
dents into pools where a foot has been
puddles lie spilt in the road a mass, not
of water, but steel, with its cold, hard sheen
faint fades the fire on the hearth, its embers
scattering wide at a stronger gust
above, the old weatherc-ck groans, but remembers
creaking, to turn, in its centuriеd rust
dying, forlorn, in dreary sorrow
wrapping the mists round her withеring form
day sinks down; and in darkness to-morrow
travails to birth in the womb of the storm
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