Early March
~ by Siegfried Sassoon
March having come this year mild, hazy-skied and calm,
With hill-top airs from northward breathing frost-like smell,
I dawdle along the lane that leads to Sundial Farm.
Beguilements (which my middle-age can't yet dispel)
Steal into me. Rejuvenescence works its charm.
Designlessly in love with life unlived, I go
Content with the mere fact that fields are drying fast
And tiny beads of bud along the hedge foreshow
The blackthorn winter that will come too late to last.
Beyond that bare untidy orchard, now and then,
One thrush half tells how in the twilight hour he'll sing
To no one but himself his wild belief in spring
Meanwhile I'm thankful for this almost dusty road,
Celandine's lowly gold, and daylight lengthening when
The winterbournes, like time, past February have flowed.
