WHEN March was master of furrow and fold, And the skies kept cloudy festival And the daffodil pods were tipped with gold And a passion was in the plover's call, A spare old man went hobbling by With a broken pipe and a tapping stick, And he mumbled -- "Blossom before I die, Be quick, you little brown buds, be quick. "I've weathered the world for a count of years -- Good old years of shining fire -- And death and the devil bring no fears, And I've fed the flame of my last desire; I'm ready to go, but I'd pass the gate On the edge of the world with an old heart sick If I missed the blossoms. I may not wait -- The gate is open -- be quick, be quick." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW by JOHN DONNE NEVER TOO LATE: THE PALMER'S ODE by ROBERT GREENE THERE WILL COME SOFT RAINS' by SARA TEASDALE ONE'S-SELF I SING by WALT WHITMAN GULLS by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS INSULTING BEAUTY by JOHN WILMOT |