Poetry Friday--"March Evening"

Amy Lowell is a poet whom I discovered not all that long ago. If you visit your local public library and look through its collection of poetry titles, I doubt if you'll find much, if anything, by Lowell. If she once had a following, it's all but faded away. Still, I like what I've read and I'm on the lookout for more.

The Gutenberg Project is a good place to find her work since much of it was published prior to 1923 and is now in the public domain. I have mentioned the Gutenberg Project on several occasions, most recently in December.

This poem, so perfect for this time of year in New Hampshire, is from A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass, originally published in 1912.

March Evening

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 weathercock groans, but remembers
  Creaking, to turn, in its centuried rust.

Dying, forlorn, in dreary sorrow,
  Wrapping the mists round her withering form,
Day sinks down; and in darkness to-morrow
  Travails to birth in the womb of the storm.

Visit Myra at Gathering Books for this week's Poetry Friday Round-Up.

--Diane

Photo by Malte Ahrens.