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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
MARCH EVENING, by AMY LOWELL Poet Analysis Poet's Biography
First Line: Blue through the window burns the twilight
Last Line: Travails to birth in the womb of the storm.
First Line: Blue through the window burns the twilight
Last Line: Travails to birth in the womb of the storm.
Blue through the window burns the twilight;
Heavy, through trees, blows the warm south wind.
Glistening, against the chill, gray sky light,
Wet, black branches are barred and entwined.
Sodden and spongy, the scarce-green grass plot
Dents into pools where a foot has been.
Puddles lie spilt in the road a mass, not
Of water, but steel, with its cold, hard sheen.
Faint fades the fire on the hearth, its embers
Scatter, forlorn, in dreary sorrow,
Wrapping the mists round her withering form,
Day sinks down; and in darkness to-morrow
Travails to birth in the womb of the storm.
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