Song in March / William Gilmore Simms

Song in March

Wikimedia Commons.

Now are the winds about us in their glee
Tossing the slender tree;
Whirling the sands about his furious car
March cometh from afar;
Breaks the seal'd magic of old Winter's dreams,
And rends his glassy streams;
Chafing with potent airs, he fiercely takes
Their fetters from the lakes,
And, with a power by queenly Spring supplied,
Wakens the slumbering tide.

With a wild love he seeks young Summer's charms,
And clasps her in his arms;
Lifting his shield between, he drives away
Old Winter from his prey;–
The ancient tyrant whom he boldly braves,
Goes howling to his caves;
And, to his northern realm compelled to fly,
Yields up the victory;
Melted are all his bands, o'erthrown his towers,
And March comes bringing flowers.

~~
William Gilmore Simms (1806-1870)
from Poems: Descriptive, dramatic, legendary and contemplative, 1853 

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

William Gilmore Simms biography

"Song in March" read for Audiobook Passion.

A Brief Winter Sunset / JD Shirk

A Brief Winter Sunset

The winter's heavy blanket lay
Across the sky in shades of gray
An inch or so of snow was fresh
But cheerless in the gloominess

Until above an evening hill
I watched a glow break through the chill
It framed the farm and trees up there
Then faded into cold night air

~~

JD Shirk, 2024

[All rights reserved - used with permission]

JD Shirk biography

Will Dockery, Chattahoochee Sunset, 2025. All rights reserved - used with permission.

At Christmas-tide / H. Cordelia Ray

At Christmas-tide

Gleamed a resplendent star
Over the hillsides far,
While shepherds watched by night
On the peaceful height.

Softly the gold-light fell
Over the vale and dell,
While angels warbled clear
“Lo! the Christ-child's here!”

Wise men brought there with them,
Sweet Child of Bethlehem,
Rare gifts to offer Thee,
For Thou mad'st them free.

“Peace!” list the magic word
Now through the ages heard;
“Good-will!” it echoes still
With the olden thrill.

Sweet Child in mercy sent,
Jesus, grant us content.
Evermore may we be
Near to truth and Thee!

~~
H. Cordelia Ray (1852-1916)
from Poems, 1910

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

H. Cordelia Ray biography

Nativity, c. 1720-1725 (detail). Public domain, Wikimedia Commons.

Spring Morning / Frances Cornford

Spring Morning

Now the moisty wood discloses
Wrinkled leaves of primèroses,
While the birds, they flute and sing:
Build your nests, for here is Spring.

All about the open hills
Daises shew their peasant frills,
Washed and white and newly spun
For a festival of sun.

Like a blossom from the sky,
Drops a yellow butterfly.
Dancing down the hedges grey
Snow-bestrewn till yesterday.

Squirrels skipping up the trees
Smell how Spring is in the breeze,
While the birds, they flute and sing:
Build your nests, for here is Spring.

~~
Frances Cornford (1886-1960)
from Spring Morning, 1923

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Frances Cornford biography

Jonathan Billinger, Spring Morning, April 2013. CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

Green Things Growing / Dinah Maria Craik

Green Things Growing

O the green things growing, the green things growing,
The faint sweet smell of the green things growing!
I should like to live, whether I smile or grieve,
Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing.

O the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing!
How they talk each to each, when none of us are knowing;
In the wonderful white of the weird moonlight
Or the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing.

I love, I love them so – my green things growing!
And I think that they love me, without false showing;
For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much,
With the soft mute comfort of green things growing.

And in the rich store of their blossoms glowing
Ten for one I take they're on me bestowing:
Oh, I should like to see, if God's will it may be,
Many, many a summer of my green things growing!

But if I must be gathered for the angel's sowing,
Sleep out of sight awhile, like the green things growing,
Though dust to dust return, I think I'll scarcely mourn,
If I may change into green things growing.

~~
Dinah Maria Craik (1826-1887)

from Thirty Years: Being poems new and old, 1881

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Dinah Maria Craik biography

Claude Monet (1840-1926), Woman Sitting in the Garden, 1876 (detail).

Public domain, courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

April / Edwin Arnold

from The Twelve Months

April

Blossom of the almond-trees,
April's gift to April's bees,
Birthday ornament of spring,
Flora's fairest daughterling!—
Coming when no flow'rets dare
Trust the cruel outer air;
When the royal king-cup bold
Will not don his coat of gold;
And the sturdy blackthorn spray
Keeps its silver for the May;—
Coming when no flow'rets would,
Save thy lowly sisterhood
Early violets, blue and white,
Dying for their love of light.
Almond blossom, sent to teach us
That the spring-days soon will reach us,
Lest, with longing over-tried,
We die as the violets died.
Blossom, clouding all the tree
With thy crimson 'broidery,
Long before a leaf of green
On the bravest bough is seen;
Ah! when wintry winds are swinging
All thy red bells into ringing,
With a bee in every bell,
Almond bloom, we greet thee well!

~~

Edwin Arnold (1832-1904)

from Poems: National and non-oriental, 1906

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

[May]

Edwin Arnold biography

3268zauber, Almond Blossoms, April 2009. CC BY-SA 3.0, Wikimedia Commons.

Sea-Fever / John Masefield

Sea-Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted 

    knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

~~
John Masefield (1878-1967)
from Salt-Water Ballads, 1902

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

John Masefield biography

About "Sea-Fever"

"Sea-Fever" read by Ian Batchelor. Courtesy LiveCanonPoetry.

Winter Streams / Bliss Carman

Winter Streams

Now the little rivers go
Muffled safely under snow,

And the winding meadow streams
Murmur in their wintry dreams,

While a tinkling music wells
Faintly from there icy bells,

Telling how their hearts are bold
Though the very sun be cold.

Ah, but wait until the rain
Comes a-sighing once again,

Sweeping softly from the Sound
Over ridge and meadow ground!

Then the little streams will hear
April calling far and near,—

Slip their snowy bands and run
Sparkling in the welcome sun.

~~
Bliss Carman (1861-1929)
from Later Poems, 1926

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the European Union]

Bliss Carman biography

Apollyon, Winter Stream in Marjaniemi, Helsinki, Finland, 2006. Wikimedia Commons.

See also: "Summer Streams" by Bliss Carman

Sweet September Days / George W. Doneghy

Sweet September Days

    I

There's a something in the atmosphere, in sweet September days,
That mantles all the landscape with its languid, dreamy haze;
And you see the leaves a-dropping, in a lazy kind of way,
Where the maple trees are standing in their Summer-time array.

    II

There's a yellowish tinge a-creeping over Nature's emerald sheen,
And the cattle stand, half-sleeping, in the middle of the stream
Where the glassy pool is shaded by the overhanging limb,
And the pebbly bottom's glinting where the silvery minnows swim.

    III

The tasseled corn is nodding, and the crow on drowsy wing
Is sailing o'er the orchard where the ripening apples swing,
And the fleecy clouds are floating in the azure of the sky,
And the gentle breeze is sighing as it's idly wafted by.

    IV

The cantaloupes are ripening in their yellow golden rinds;
And the melons, round and juicy, are a-clinging to the vines;
And the merry, laughing children, in their happy hour of play,
Are a-romping in the meadow and a-sliding down the hay.

    V

The busy bees are buzzing where the grapes with purple blush,
And the hanging bunches tempting with their weight the arbor crush,
And the blue jays are a-wrangling in the wood across the road,
Where the hickory boughs are bending 'neath an extra heavy load.

    VI

Let your poets keep a-singing about the Springtime gay,
And the blossoms and the flowers in the merry month of May —
But the early Autumn splendor, with its sweet September days,
Eclipses boasted Springtime in a thousand kind of ways!

~~
George W. Doneghy (1848-1917)
from The Old Hanging Fork, and other poems, 1897

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

George W. Doneghy biography

John Henry Twachtman (1853-1902), September Sunshine, ca. 1892. 

Public domain, Wikimedia Commons.

March / Mary Slade

March

The stormy March has come again,—
        March! March! March!
And rattling down the window pane,—
        March! March! March!
Come rushing torrents of the rain,—
        March! March! March!
But o'er my head my hat I swing,
And shout hurrah! like anything!
Because it is the first of Spring,—
        March! March! March!

~~
Mary Slade (1826-1882)

from The Children's Hour, 1880

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Mary Slade biography

David Howard, "Rain in Lindford," March 2015. CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

Mother Ireland / Arthur Stringer

Mother Ireland

A true and dark-eyed Mother Land, ye've mourned thim day be day,
The childer' av your achin' breast who've fared a world away!
Be moorland and be lough and whin, ye've mourned for all your lost,
But still ye've smiled and still ye've watched and counted not the cost!

And dark, in faith, the ould hours fell and cold the ashes grew,
But Ireland, Mother Ireland, still ye've waited fond and thrue;
And now the Night has vanished, wid the sorrows it has known,
We'll hear the call av Ireland, lads, av Ireland to her own!

~~
Arthur Stringer (1874-1950)
from Irish poems, 1911

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the United States]

Arthur Stringer biography

Peter Benton, Ireland from Northern Ireland, 2004. CC BY-SA 2.0, Wikimedia Commons.

February / James Berry Bensel

February

Around, above the world of snow

The light-heeled breezes breathe and blow;

Now here, now there, they whirl the flakes,

And whistle through the sun-dried brakes,

Then, growing faint, in silence fall
Against the keyhole in the hall.

Then dusky twilight spreads around,
The last soft snowflake seeks the ground,
And through unshaded window-panes
The lamp-rays strike across the plains,
While now and then a shadow tall
Is thrown upon the white washed wall.

The hoar-frost crackles on the trees,
The rattling brook begins to freeze,
The well-sweep glistens in the light
As if with dust of diamonds bright;
And speeding o'er the crusted snow
A few swift-footed rabbits go.

Then the night-silence, long and deep,
When weary eyes close fast in sleep;
The hush of Nature's breath, until
The cock crows loud upon the hill;
And shortly through the eastern haze
The red sun sets the sky ablaze.

~~
James Berry Bensel (1856-1886)

from Golden Treasury of Poetry, 1959

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

James Berry Bensel biography

A Winter Day / Lucy Maud Montgomery

A Winter Day

I

The air is silent save where stirs
A bugling breeze among the firs;
The virgin world in white array
Waits for the bridegroom kiss of day;
All heaven blooms rarely in the east
Where skies are silvery and fleeced,
And o'er the orient hills made glad
The morning comes in wonder clad;
Oh, 'tis a time most fit to see
How beautiful the dawn can be!


II

Wide, sparkling fields snow-vestured lie
Beneath a blue, unshadowed sky;
A glistening splendor crowns the woods
And bosky, whistling solitudes;
In hemlock glen and reedy mere
The tang of frost is sharp and clear;
Life hath a jollity and zest,
A poignancy made manifest;
Laughter and courage have their way
At noontide of a winter's day.


III

Faint music rings in wold and dell,
The tinkling of a distant bell,
Where homestead lights with friendly glow
Glimmer across the drifted snow;
Beyond a valley dim and far
Lit by an occidental star,
Tall pines the marge of day beset
Like many a slender minaret,
Whence priest-like winds on crystal air
Summon the reverent world to prayer.

~~
Lucy Maud Montgomery (1874-1942)
from The Watchman, and other poems, 1916

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

Lucy Maud Montgomery biography

"A Winter Day" by Lucy Maud Montgomery, LibriVox audiobook

December / Ina Coolbrith

December

Now the summer all is over!
We have wandered through the clover,
We have plucked in wood and lea
Blue-bell and anemone.

We were children of the sun,
Very brown to look upon:
We were stainéd, hands and lips,
With the berries' juicy tips.

And I think that we may know
Where the rankest nettles grow,
And where oak and ivy weave
Crimson glories to deceive.

Now the merry days are over!
Woodland-tenants seek their cover,
And the swallow leaves again
For his castle-nests in Spain.

Shut the door, and close the blind:
We shall have the bitter wind,
We shall have the dreary rain
Striving, driving at the pane.

Send the ruddy fire-light higher;
Draw your easy chair up nigher;
Through the winter, bleak and chill,
We may have our summer still.

Here are poems we may read,
Pleasant fancies to our need:
Ah, eternal summer-time
Dwells within the poet's rhyme!

All the birds' sweet melodies
Linger in these songs of his;
And the blossoms of all ages
Waft their fragrance from his pages.

~~
Ina Coolbrith (1841-1928)

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada and the European Union]

Ina Coolbrith biography

Hannah Shea, Rainy Cabin, Pinterest

A July Day / Eben E. Rexford

A July Day

In idle mood, this happy day,
I let the moments drift away;
I lie among the tangled grass
And watch the crinkling billows pass
O'er seas of clover. Like a tide
That sets across the meadow wide,
The crimson-crested ripples run
From isles of shade to shores of sun;
And one white lily seems to be
A sail upon this summer sea,
Blown northward, bringing me, to-day,
A fragrant freight from far Cathay.

Low as the wind that waves the rose
In gardens where the poppy grows,
And sweet as bells heard far away,
A robin sings his song to-day;
Sings softly, by his hidden nest,
A little roundelay of rest;
And as the wind his dwelling swings
He dreams his dream of unfledged wings,
While, blending with his song, I hear
A brook's low babble, somewhere near.

A glory wraps the hills, and seems
To weave an atmosphere of dreams
About the mountain's kingly crest
As sinks the sun adown the west.
Earth seems to sit with folded hands
In peace he only understands
Who has no care, no vain regret,
No sorrow he would fain forget,
And like a child upon her breast
I lie, this happy day, and rest.

The "green things growing" whisper me
Of many an earth-old mystery;
Of blossoms hiding in the mold,
And what the acorn cups enfold;
Of life unseen by eyes too dim
To look through Nature up to Him
Who writes the poem of the year
For human heart, and eye, and ear.

O summer day, surpassing fair,
With hints of heaven in earth and air,
Not long I keep you in my hold —
The book is closed—the tale is told.
The valley fills with amber mist;
The sky is gold and amethyst.
Soft, soft and low, and silver clear
The robin's vesper hymn I hear,
And see the stars lit, one by one.
The happy summer day is done.

~~
Eben E. Rexford (1848-1916)

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Eben E. Rexford biography

May and the Poets / Leigh Hunt

from To May

May and the Poets

    There is May in books forever;
May will part from Spenser never;
May’s in Milton, May’s in Prior,
May’s in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer;
May’s in all the Italian books;

She has old and modern nooks
Where she sleeps with nymphs and elves,
In happy places they call shelves,
And will rise and dress your rooms
With a drapery thick with blooms.

    Come, ye rains, then if ye will,
May’s at home, and with me still;
But come rather, thou, good weather,
And find us in the fields together.

~~
Leigh Hunt (1784-1859)
from Poetical Works, 1857

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Leigh Hunt biography

Always Marry an April Girl / Ogden Nash

Always Marry An April Girl

Praise the spells and bless the charms,
I found April in my arms.
April golden, April cloudy,
Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy;
April soft in flowered languor,
April cold with sudden anger,
Ever changing, ever true —
I love April, I love you.

~~
Ogden Nash (1902-1971)
from Verses from 1929 on, 1959

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada]

Ogden Nash biography

An April Adoration / Charles G.D. Roberts

An April Adoration

Sang the sun rise on an amber morn –

"Earth, be glad! An April day is born.

"Winter's done, and April's in the skies,

Earth, look up with laughter in your eyes!"

Putting off her dumb dismay of snow,

Earth bade all her unseen children grow.

Then the sound of growing in the air

Rose to God a liturgy of prayer;

And the thronged succession of the days

Uttered up to God a psalm of praise.

Laughed the running sap in every vein,

Laughed the running flurries of warm rain,

Laughed the life in every wandering root,

Laughed the tingling cells of bud and shoot.

God in all the concord of their mirth

Heard the adoration-song of Earth.

~~
Charles G.D. Roberts (1860-1943)
from The Book of the Native, 1897

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the European Union]

Charles G.D. Roberts biography

The Months / Sara Coleridge

The Months

January brings the snow,
makes our feet and fingers glow.

February brings the rain,
Thaws the frozen lake again.

March brings breezes loud and shrill,
stirs the dancing daffodil.

April brings the primrose sweet,
Scatters daises at our feet.

May brings flocks of pretty lambs,
Skipping by their fleecy dams.

June brings tulips, lilies, roses,
Fills the children's hand with posies.

Hot July brings cooling showers,
Apricots and gillyflowers.

August brings the sheaves of corn,
Then the harvest home is borne.

Warm September brings the fruit,
Sportsmen then begin to shoot.

Fresh October brings the pheasents,
Then to gather nuts is pleasent.

Dull November brings the blast,
Then the leaves are whirling fast.

Chill December brings the sleet,
Blazing fire, and Christmas treat.

~~
Sara Coleridge (1802-1852)
from Pretty Lessons in Verse for Good Children, 1845

[Poem is in the public domain worldwide]

Sara Coleridge biography

Marching Men / Marjorie Pickthall

Marching Men

Under the level winter sky
I saw a thousand Christs go by.
They sang an idle song and free
As they went up to calvary.

Careless of eye and coarse of lip,
They marched in holiest fellowship.
That heaven might heal the world, they gave
Their earth-born dreams to deck the grave.

With souls unpurged and steadfast breath
They supped the sacrament of death.
And for each one, far off, apart,
Seven swords have rent a woman's heart.

~~
Marjorie L.C. Pickthall
from The Wood Carver's Wife, and later poems, 1922

[Poem is in the public domain in Canada, the United States, and the United Kingdom]

 Marjorie Pickthall biography