Inspiring Enchantment & Illumination with Tarot & Intuitive Guidance

Welcome March!

March: An Ode
by Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909)

Please remember – For best results, poetry is meant to be read aloud!

Ere frost-flower and snow-blossom faded and fell, and the splendour of winter had passed out of sight,

The ways of the woodlands were fairer and stranger than dreams that fulfil us in sleep with delight;

The breath of the mouths of the winds had hardened on tree-tops and branches that glittered and swayed

Such wonders and glories of blossomlike snow or of frost that outlightens all flowers till it fade

That the sea was not lovelier than here was the land, nor the night than the day, nor the day than the night,

Nor the winter sublimer with storm than the spring: such mirth had the madness and might in thee made,

March, master of winds, bright minstrel and marshal of storms that enkindle the season they smite…

For the breath of thy lips is freedom, and freedom’s the sense of thy spirit, the sound of thy song,

Glad god of the north-east wind, whose heart is as high as the hands of thy kingdom are strong,

Thy kingdom whose empire is terror and joy, twin-featured and fruitful of births divine,

Days lit with the flame of the lamps of the flowers, and nights that are drunken with dew for wine,

And sleep not for joy of the stars that deepen and quicken, a denser and fierier throng,

And the world that thy breath bade whiten and tremble rejoices at heart as they strengthen and shine,

And earth gives thanks for the glory bequeathed her, and knows of thy reign that it wrought not wrong.

Thy spirit is quenched not, albeit we behold not thy face in the crown of the steep sky’s arch,

And the bold first buds of the whin wax golden, and witness arise of the thorn and the larch:

Wild April, enkindled to laughter and storm by the kiss of the wildest of winds that blow,

Calls loud on his brother for witness; his hands that were laden with blossom are sprinkled with snow,

And his lips breathe winter, and laugh, and relent; and the live woods feel not the frost’s flame parch;

For the flame of the spring that consumes not but quickens is felt at the heart of the forest aglow,

And the sparks that enkindled and fed it were strewn from the hands of the gods of the winds of March.

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