[Pg 42]

February

I do not sing for youth and love,

For passion and desire,

I only sing because the sun

Is gold like shining fire;

I only sing because the day

Is blue, the grass is green,

The birds are singing out their hearts,

The waking twigs between!

Because the chestnut branch is tipped

With buds of folded brown,

Because the snowdrops look so white,

The catkins feather down,

Because the naked elms have bent

To whisper me this thing—

The sap is stirring in their limbs—

How can I choose, but sing!

[Pg 43]

[Pg 43]

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