By March Wind Led

The wild, beleaguering March wind storms my door,
And in his wake surges an army vast,—
Old Hopes, old Dreams, old Love, too dear to last,
And all that made life glad in days of yore,
Turned now to ghosts, and from their alien shore
Come back for this one night to bring my Past,
And vex me with its spell about me cast,
Though It and I be parted evermore.

Beleaguering host! I bid ye now avaunt!
I will not listen, though ye call for aye
As pitiless as blasts from this March sky
I found ye once. What right have ye to haunt
This night that should be peaceful? I defy
Your evil power—my soul ye shall not daunt.
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.