Poems and Ballads (Third Series) | Page 3

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DEDICATION 289
POEMS AND BALLADS
THIRD SERIES
TO
WILLIAM BELL SCOTT
POET AND PAINTER
I DEDICATE THESE POEMS
IN MEMORY OF MANY YEARS
MARCH: AN ODE
1887
I
Ere frost-flower and snow-blossom faded and fell, and the splendour
of winter had passed out of sight,
The ways of the woodlands were
fairer and stranger than dreams that
fulfil us in sleep with delight;
The breath of the mouths of the winds

had hardened on tree-tops and
branches that glittered and swayed
Such wonders and glories of
blossomlike snow or of frost that
outlightens all flowers till it fade
That the sea was not lovelier than
here was the land, nor the night
than the day, nor the day than the night,
Nor the winter sublimer with
storm than the spring: such mirth had
the madness and might in thee made,
March, master of winds, bright
minstrel and marshal of storms that
enkindle the season they smite.
II
And now that the rage of thy rapture is satiate with revel and
ravin and spoil of the snow,
And the branches it brightened are
broken, and shattered the
tree-tops that only thy wrath could lay low,
How should not thy
lovers rejoice in thee, leader and lord of the
year that exults to be born
So strong in thy strength and so glad of thy
gladness whose
laughter puts winter and sorrow to scorn?
Thou hast shaken the
snows from thy wings, and the frost on thy
forehead is molten: thy lips are aglow
As a lover's that kindle with
kissing, and earth, with her raiment
and tresses yet wasted and torn,
Takes breath as she smiles in the
grasp of thy passion to feel

through her spirit the sense of thee flow.
III
Fain, fain would we see but again for an hour what the wind and the
sun have dispelled and consumed,
Those full deep swan-soft feathers
of snow with whose luminous
burden the branches implumed
Hung heavily, curved as a half-bent
bow, and fledged not as birds
are, but petalled as flowers,
Each tree-top and branchlet a pinnacle
jewelled and carved, or a
fountain that shines as it showers,
But fixed as a fountain is fixed not,
and wrought not to last till
by time or by tempest entombed,
As a pinnacle carven and gilded of
men: for the date of its doom is
no more than an hour's,
One hour of the sun's when the warm wind
wakes him to wither the
snow-flowers that froze as they bloomed.
IV
As the sunshine quenches the snowshine; as April subdues thee, and
yields up his kingdom to May;
So time overcomes the regret that is
born of delight as it passes
in passion away,
And leaves but a dream for desire to rejoice in or
mourn for with
tears or thanksgivings; but thou,
Bright god that art gone from us,
maddest and gladdest of months,

to what goal hast thou gone from us now?
For somewhere surely the
storm of thy laughter that lightens, the
beat of thy wings that play,
Must flame as a fire through the world,
and the heavens that we
know not rejoice in thee: surely thy brow
Hath lost not its radiance of
empire, thy spirit the joy that
impelled it on quest as for prey.
V
Are thy feet on the ways of the limitless waters, thy wings on the
winds of the waste north sea?
Are the fires of the false north dawn
over heavens where summer is
stormful and strong like thee
Now bright in the sight of thine eyes?
are the bastions of icebergs
assailed by the blast of thy breath?
Is it March with the wild north
world when April is waning? the
word that the changed year saith,
Is it echoed to northward with
rapture of passion reiterate from
spirits triumphant as we
Whose hearts were uplift at the blast of thy
clarions as men's
rearisen from a sleep that was death
And kindled to life that was one
with the world's and with thine?
hast thou set not the whole world free?
VI
For the breath of thy lips is freedom, and freedom's the sense of

thy spirit, the sound of thy song,
Glad god of the north-east wind,
whose heart is as high as the
hands of thy kingdom are strong,
Thy kingdom whose empire is
terror and joy, twin-featured and
fruitful of births divine,
Days lit with the flame of the lamps of the
flowers, and nights
that are drunken with dew for wine,
And sleep not for joy of the stars
that deepen and quicken, a
denser and fierier throng,
And the world that thy breath bade whiten
and tremble rejoices at
heart as they strengthen and shine,
And earth gives thanks for the
glory bequeathed her,