March-Waking
Before the dawn, when birds crouch close together,
A voiceless silvery stir the silence breaks;
So through the greyness of this mid-March weather,
Something wakes.
No green has sprung between the withered grasses,
No blossom stars the roadside's mossy miles,
Yet from the fields the frozen bareness passes,
Something smiles.
Not yet, not yet the time of song's full cheering;
Expectant silence all my heart enthralls;
Out of the woods and through the lonely clearing
Something calls.
A voiceless silvery stir the silence breaks;
So through the greyness of this mid-March weather,
Something wakes.
No green has sprung between the withered grasses,
No blossom stars the roadside's mossy miles,
Yet from the fields the frozen bareness passes,
Something smiles.
Not yet, not yet the time of song's full cheering;
Expectant silence all my heart enthralls;
Out of the woods and through the lonely clearing
Something calls.
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