Odd, waif-like Day, the changeling of
Man's 'time' unreckoned in his years;
The moon already shows above
Thy fickle sleet - now tears!
As brief thy stay has been as though
Next Spring might seal our tryst again.
Alas, fall must four winters' snow
Ere you come back. And then?
I love thy timid aconite,
Crocus, and scilla's deep- sea blue;
Hark, too, that rainbird, out of sight,
Mocking the woodland through!
But see, it's evening in the west:
Tranquil, withdrawn, aloof, devout.
Soon will the darkness drape your breast,
And midnight shut you out!...
Sweet February Twenty Nine!-
This is our grace-year, as I live!
Quick now! this foolish heart of mine:
Seize thy prerogative!
Evening in the west has passed
And darkness wrapped me round
I didn't seize the day alas,
For to the house was bound.
I waited in from Two 'til Nine!-
At John Lewis' bidding,
There was an ancient wash machine
I needed to be ridding.
But stay! Twas not all squander'd though,
I planted up my seed trays,
With myriad herbs and flowers to grow
In coming grace-filled spring days!
With apologies to Walter de la Mare.