Lizette Woodworth Reese

(January 9, 1856 – December 17, 1935 / Waverly)

Mid-March - Poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese

It is too early for white boughs, too late
For snows. From out the hedge the wind lets fall
A few last flakes, ragged and delicate.
Down the stripped roads the maples start their small,
Soft, ’wildering fires. Stained are the meadow stalks
A rich and deepening red. The willow tree
Is woolly. In deserted garden-walks
The lean bush crouching hints old royalty,
Feels some June stir in the sharp air and knows
Soon ’twill leap up and show the world a rose.

The days go out with shouting; nights are loud;
Wild, warring shapes the wood lifts in the cold;
The moon’s a sword of keen, barbaric gold,
Plunged to the hilt into a pitch black cloud.


Comments about Mid-March by Lizette Woodworth Reese

  • (5/19/2014 10:38:00 AM)


    Adore them last two lines of this poem! What visuals! ! ! (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Saturday, December 17, 2011

Poem Edited: Saturday, December 17, 2011


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