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grey; Surely all the world is
dead; Spring is far away.
Wait! The world shall waken;
It is not dead, for lo,
The Fair Maids of February
Stand in the snow!
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(Mind where you're going, O Madam and Sir!)
How they will cling to your skirt-hem and
stocking! Hear how the Burdock is laughing
and mocking: Try to get rid of me, try as
you will, Shake me and scold me, I'll stick
to you still, I'll stick to you still!
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The wind is cold,
the Spring seems long a-wakening;
The woods are brown and bare;
Yet this is March:
soon April will be making
All things most sweet and fair.
See, even now, in hedge and thicket tangled,
One brave and cheering sight:
The leafless branches of the Blackthorn
Spangled With starry blossoms white!
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The field, the road, are my abode.
Though leaf and bud be splashed with mud,
Who cares? Not I! ~ I see the sky,
The kindly sun, the wayside fun
Of tramping folk who smoke and joke,
The bairns who heed my dusty weed
(No sting have I to make them cry),
And truth to tell, they love me well,
My brothers, White, and Yellow bright,
Are finer chaps than I, perhaps;
Who cares? Not I! So now good~bye.
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All to sunset colours turning,
Till the thicket seems to kindle,
Just as though the trees were burning.
While my berries split and show
Orange-coloured seeds aglow,
One by one my leaves must fall;
Soon the wind will take them all.
Soon must fairies shut their eyes
For the Winter's hushabies;
But, before the Autumn goes,
Spindle turns to flame and rose!
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Really I am rich and wise.
Every tiny flower I shed
Leaves a heart~shaped purse instead.
In each purse is wealth indeed
Every coin a living seed,
Sow the seed upon the earth
Living plants shall spring to birth.
Silly people's purses hold
Lifeless silver, clinking gold;
But you cannot grow a pound
From a farthing in the ground
Money may become a curse:
Give me then my Shepherd's Purse
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Nor in the country lane;
But in the city's parks and streets
You'll see the Plane.
O turn your eyes from pavements grey,
And look you up instead,
To where the Plane tree's pretty balls
Hang overhead!
When he has shed his golden leaves,
His balls will yet remain,
To deck the tree until the Spring,
Comes back again!
Fairys of Spring
Fairys of Autumn
