March the Third
MARCH THE 3RD by EDWARD THOMAS
Here again (she said) is March the third And twelve hours singing for the bird 'Twixt dawn and dusk, from half past six To half past six, never unheard.
'Tis Sunday, and the church-bells end With the birds' songs. I think they blend Better than in the same fair days That shall pronounce the Winter's end.
Do men mark, and none dares say, How it may shift and long delay, Somewhere before the first of Spring, But never fails, this singing day?
And when it falls on Sunday, bells Are a wild natural voice that dwells On hillsides; but the birds' songs have The holiness gone from the bells.
This day unpromised is more dear Than all the named days of the year When seasonable sweets come in, Because now we know how lucky we are.
To view other similar items in the archive click on the hyper-linked words below.
|Author||Thomas, Edward (1878-1917)|
|Title||March the Third|
|Copyright||Copyright Edward Thomas, 1979, reproduced under licence from Faber and Faber Ltd.|
|First line||Here again (she said) is March the third|
|Publication source||Edward Thomas Collected Poems|
|Publication editor||Thomas, George|
|Publishers||Faber and Faber|
|Digital repository||The First World War Poetry Digital Archive|