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Poem by John Payne


March


MARCH comes at last, the labouring lands to free.
Rude blusterer, with thy cloud-compelling blast,
The pining plains from cark* of Winter past     [burden]
That clear'st and carpetest each bush and tree
With daffodil and wood-anemone,
A voice from the illimitable Vast
Of dreams thou art, the tale that doth forecast
Of hope yet live and happiness to be.
And hark, the robin fluting on the bough
The rough breeze tangling on his tender breast
The ruddy plumes! Yet sings he, unopprest,
The awakening year, the blessed burgeoning
In wood and weald, the Then becoming Now
And all the pleasant presage of the Spring. 



                      John Payne


John Payne's other poems:
  1. The Foredawn Hour
  2. July
  3. December
  4. August
  5. September


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Alfred Housman March ("The Sun at noon to higher air")
  • Edward Thomas March ("Now I know that Spring will come again")
  • William Morris March ("Slayer of the winter, art thou here again?")
  • Thomas Tusser March ("In March sow thy barley, thy land not too cold")

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