Now I find amongst the season's sample
Daisies, prone at my feet
Waiting to be trampled
Keeping their heads above the sleet
In this so-called spring;
And the ancient soil we flail
In a deck-chair of sun
Then submerged in ice-cold hail
Does it know spring has begun?
In these changing climes;
The cutting winds make the daffodils
Hang their heads in shame
Their bloomed hearts blown from the hills
With April to blame
In this English tropic;
Such is spring, the winter's daughter
The unaware and innocent
Made for the slaughter
With happiness so transient
And who believed better times to lie ahead;
So withered our narrow hopes
Who paid dearly the extracted cost
Of the winter on the slopes
And the cruel ground frosts
Now spring is here.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem