#MIDDLEBURY
March Evening
Amy Lowell
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
Scattering wide at a stronger gust.
Above, the old weathercock groans, but remembers
Creaking, to turn, in its centuried rust.
Dying, 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.
About this poem
“March Evening” was published in Lowell’s book “A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass” (Houghton Mifflin Co., 1912).
About Amy Lowell
Amy Lowell was born on Feb. 9, 1874, in Brookline, Mass. She is the author of numerous books, including “Fir-Flower Tablets” (Houghton Mifflin Co., 1921) and “What’s a Clock” (Houghton Mifflin Co., 1925), which won the Pulitzer Prize. She died on May 12, 1925.
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day@poets.org.
This poem is in the public domain. Distributed by King Features Syndicate.
