But now laid waste by wild-winged March,

March, mad with wind like wine.

XXXV

From all thy brightening downs whereon

The windy seaward whin-flower shows

Blossom whose pride strikes pale the rose

Forth is the golden watchword gone

Whereat the world's face glows.

[Pg 183]

XXXVI

Thy quickening woods rejoice and ring

Till earth seems glorious as the sea:

With yearning love too glad for glee

The world's heart quivers toward the spring

As all our hearts toward thee.

XXXVII

Thee, mother, thee, our queen, who givest

Assurance to the heavens most high

And earth whereon her bondsmen sigh

That by the sea's grace while thou livest

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