Month which the warring ancients strangely styled br The month of war,--as if in their fierce ways br Were any month of peace!--in thy rough days br I find no war in Nature, though the wild br Winds clash and clang, and broken boughs are piled br As feet of writhing trees. The violets raise br Their heads without affright, without amaze, br And sleep through all the din, as sleeps a child. br And he who watches well may well discern br Sweet expectation in each living thing. br Like pregnant mother the sweet earth doth yearn; br In secret joy makes ready for the spring; br And hidden, sacred, in her breast doth bear br Annunciation lilies for the year.