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. The Sea Witch
2. Pieter Marinus
3. O Silver Rose
4. The Lamp of Poor Souls
5. Wanderlied

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