Old winter trees are etched against a sky Gray like some cloak the wind has tossed aside. Spring or winter -- which, the mad brash crows are cawing. A robin might be nesting in a hedgerow Where some belated drift of snow is thawing. Wild mooded artist of the year -- March. Spring or winter -- which? Could poet half so wildly sing One line of winter, one of spring, Or hold the bold mad rhythm of the wind Against his art he had forever sinned. Imprison not in stately measures The high wild beating of her storm-tried heart; -- Intone the mad abandon of her song No poet can with rhyme or reason. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VILLAIN by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES ST. ISAAC'S CHURCH, PETROGRAD by CLAUDE MCKAY IN MEMORY OF AGOSTINO ISOLA, OF CAMBRIDGE, WHO DIED 1797 by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: THE CASTLE OF KING MACBETH by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS TO MARIA by ROBERT BURNS LOVE AND DEATH by GEORGE GORDON BYRON A DREAM SHAPE by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN DOMESTIC PEACE; SONG, FR. THE FALL OF ROBESPIERRE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |