Beaming.

Mutrie, Wild Flowers at the Corner of a Cornfield, 1860

MARCH NOSEGAY

 

The bonny March morning is beaming

In mingled crimson and grey,

White clouds are streaking and creaming

The sky till the noon of the day;

The fir deal looks darker and greener,

And grass hills below look the same;

The air all about is serener,

The birds less familiar and tame.

Here's two or three flowers for my fair one,

Wood primroses and celandine too;

I oft look about for a rare one

To put in a posy for you.

The birds look so clean and so neat,

Though there's scarcely a leaf on the grove;

The sun shines about me so sweet,

I cannot help thinking of love.

So where the blue violets are peeping,

By the warm sunny sides of the woods,

And the primrose, 'neath early morn weeping,

Amid a large cluster of buds,

(The morning it was such a rare one,

So dewy, so sunny, and fair,)

I sought the wild flowers for my fair one,

To wreath in her glossy black hair.

John Clare