Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A TWILIGHT IN MIDDLE MARCH, by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A TWILIGHT IN MIDDLE MARCH, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Within the oak a throb of pigeon wings
Last Line: From little knowledge where great sorrows brood.
Subject(s): Dusk; March (month)


WITHIN the oak a throb of pigeon wings
Fell silent, and grey twilight hushed the fold,
And spiders' hammocks swung on half-oped things
That shook like foreigners upon our cold.
A gipsy lit a fire and made a sound
Of moving tins, and from an oblong moon
The river seemed to gush across the ground
To the cracked metre of a marching tune.

And then three syllables of melody
Dropped from a blackbird's flute, and died apart
Far in the dewy dark. No more but three,
Yet sweeter music never touched a heart
Neath the blue domes of London. Flute and reed,
Suggesting feelings of the solitude
When will was all the Delphi I would heed,
Lost like a wind within a summer wood
From little knowledge where great sorrows brood.





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