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March

Slayer of the winter, art thou here again?

O welcome, thou that's bring'st the summer nigh!

The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain,

Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.

Welcome,

O March! whose kindly days and

Make April ready for the throstle's song,

Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong!

Yea, welcome March! and though I die ere June,

Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise,

Striving to swell the burden of the

That even now I hear thy brown birds raise,

Unmindful of the past or coming days;

Who sing: 'Oh joy! a new year is begun:

What happiness to look upon the sun!'Ah, what begetteth all this storm of

But death himself, who crying solemnly,

E'en from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness,

Bids us 'Rejoice, lest pleasureless ye die,

Within a little time must ye go by.

Stretch forth your open hands, and while ye

Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give.'

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William Morris

William Morris (24 March 1834 – 3 October 1896) was a British textile designer, poet, novelist, translator, and socialist activist associated wi…
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