The Oxford Book of Canadian Verse
MarchIsabella Valancy Crawford (18501887)
S
Beat on the mountain,
As on an anvil,
A shackle and fetter?
Shout as he swingeth
God-like his hammer,
And forge thee a fetter?
Twine his swift lightnings
With his loud thunders,
And forge thee a shackle?
The young lion-throated;
‘Thor, Vulcan, or Jove
Cannot shackle and bind me.’
Thou young world-shaker.
Up vault our oceans,
Down fall our forests.
Stagger and tremble,
Like reeds by the margins
Of swift running waters.
Quiver like harebells
Smitten by hailstones,
Smitten and shaken.
O bird-hearted tremblers!
Come, I will show ye
A shackle to bind me.
The shaker of mountains!
I, the invincible,
Lasher of oceans!
Its ring of pale azure
Past the horizon,
Where scurry the white clouds,
Flowers like snowflakes,
Blossoms like raindrops,
So small and tremulous.
Shall shackle and bind me,
Shall weigh down my shouting
With their delicate perfume!’
Shall forge on an anvil,
With hammer of feather
And anvil of velvet?
In the palm of a valley,
Her feet in the grasses,
There is a maiden.
They widen and redden;
She weeps on the flowers,
They grow up and kiss her.
They breathe back in odours;
Inarticulate homage,
Dumb adoration.
Shall weave them in fetters;
In chains shall she braid them,
And me shall she fetter.
March, the earth-shaker;
March, the sea-lifter;
March, the sky-render;
April, the weaver
Of delicate blossoms,
And moulder of red buds—
Its ring of pale azure,
Its scurry of white clouds,
Meet in the sunlight.’