Chant of Spring

Like an unhappy woman Earth frees herself
          from the arms of Winter,
Surely Winter, her indifferent Lord,
Whose touch is death to her passionate body,
And, weeping, yields to Spring, the
          wooing maiden,
The slim girl who kisses her with
          awakening kisses,
Burning her lips and eyelids with flaming mouth
          loosed upon them,
Renewing her body with wildness
          of young caresses,
Holding her close while the reckless hours dance
          to death.

              ·        ·              ·        ·                ·        ·
                   ·                       ·                        ·

Wan passion flowers growing in hidden places,
Kisses given by the slim maiden.
Wan passion flowers,
All that is left to Earth of her maddest lover.

From On a Grey Thread (Will Ransom, 1923) by Elsa Gidlow. This poem is in the public domain.