Poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall

The Green Month

WHAT of all the colours shall I bring you for your fairing,
Fit to lay your fingers on, fine enough for you?–
Yellow for the ripened rye, white for ladies' wearing,
Red for briar-roses, or the skies' own blue?

Nay, for spring has touched the elm, spring has found the willow,
Winds that call the swallow home sway the boughs apart;
Green shall all my curtains be, green shall be my pillow,
Green I'll wear within my hair, and green upon my heart. 

1. Sheep
2. The Hillmans Lass
3. Duna
4. Swallows
5. The Sea Witch

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