March + 

I + 

Winter is long in this climate + 

and spring⁠—a matter of a few days + 

only⁠—a flower or two picked + 

from mud or from among wet leaves + 

or at best against treacherous + 

bitterness of wind, and sky shining + 

teasingly, then closing in black + 

and sudden, with fierce jaws. + 

II + 

March, + 

you remind me of + 

the pyramids, our pyramids⁠— + 

stript of the polished stone + 

that used to guard them! + 

March, + 

you are like Fra Angelico + 

at Fiesole, painting on plaster! + 

March, + 

you are like a band of + 

young poets that have not learned + 

the blessedness of warmth + 

(or have forgotten it). + 

At any rate⁠— + 

I am moved to write poetry + 

for the warmth there is in it + 

and for the loneliness⁠— + 

a poem that shall have you + 

in it March. + 

III + 

See! + 

Ashur-ban-i-pal, + 

the archer king, on horse-back, + 

in blue and yellow enamel! + 

with drawn bow⁠—facing lions + 

standing on their hind legs, + 

fangs bared! his shafts + 

bristling in their necks! + 

Sacred bulls⁠—dragons + 

in embossed brickwork + 

marching⁠—in four tiers⁠— + 

along the sacred way to + 

Nebuchadnezzar’s throne hall! + 

They shine in the sun, + 

they that have been marching⁠— + 

marching under the dust of + 

ten thousand dirt years. + 

Now⁠— + 

they are coming into bloom again! + 

See them! + 

marching still, bared by + 

the storms from my calendar + 

—winds that blow back the sand! + 

winds that enfilade dirt! + 

winds that by strange craft + 

have whipt up a black army + 

that by pick and shovel + 

bare a procession to + 

the god, Marduk! + 

Natives cursing and digging + 

for pay unearth dragons with + 

upright tails and sacred bulls + 

alternately⁠— + 

in four tiers⁠— + 

lining the way to an old altar! + 

Natives digging at old walls⁠— + 

digging me warmth⁠—digging me + 

sweet loneliness⁠— + 

high enamelled walls. + 

IV + 

My second spring⁠— + 

passed in a monastery + 

with plaster walls⁠—in Fiesole + 

on the hill above Florence. + 

My second spring⁠—painted + 

a virgin⁠—in a blue aureole + 

sitting on a three-legged stool, + 

arms crossed⁠— + 

she is intently serious, + 

and still + 

watching an angel + 

with colored wings + 

half kneeling before her⁠— + 

and smiling⁠—the angel’s eyes + 

holding the eyes of Mary + 

as a snake’s holds a bird’s. + 

On the ground there are flowers, + 

trees are in leaf. + 

V + 

But! now for the battle! + 

Now for murder⁠—now for the real thing! + 

My third springtime is approaching! + 

Winds! + 

lean, serious as a virgin, + 

seeking, seeking the flowers of March. + 

Seeking + 

flowers nowhere to be found, + 

they twine among the bare branches + 

in insatiable eagerness⁠— + 

they whirl up the snow + 

seeking under it⁠— + 

they⁠—the winds⁠—snakelike + 

roar among yellow reeds + 

seeking flowers⁠—flowers. + 

I spring among them + 

seeking one flower + 

in which to warm myself! + 

I deride with all the ridicule + 

of misery⁠— + 

my own starved misery. + 

Counter-cutting winds + 

strike against me + 

refreshing their fury! + 

Come, good, cold fellows! + 

Have we no flowers? + 

Defy then with even more + 

desperation than ever⁠—being + 

lean and frozen! + 

But though you are lean and frozen⁠— + 

think of the blue bulls of Babylon. + 

Fling yourselves upon + 

their empty roses⁠— + 

cut savagely! + 

But⁠— + 

think of the painted monastery + 

at Fiesole. + 