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Amy Lowell - 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.

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Added: Feb 1 2004 | Viewed: 5898 times | Comments and analysis of March Evening by Amy Lowell Comments (0)

March Evening - Comments and Information

Poet: Amy Lowell
Poem: 32. March Evening
Volume: A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass
- Lyrical Poems
Poem of the Day: Oct 31 2007
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