Sowing
It was a perfect day For sowing; just As sweet and dry was the ground As tobacco-dust. I tasted deep the hour Between the far Owl's chuckling first soft cry And the first star. A long stretched hour it was; Nothing undone Remained; the early seeds All safely sown. And now, hark at the rain, Windless and light, Half a kiss, half a tear, Saying good-night.
(This was actually written earlier in March – on the 3rd – but the ground would have been far from 'sweet and dry' on that date this year.)
And here is some cheering spring music – an old chestnut, but it comes up fresh and bright (and properly Baroque) in the hands of these guys...
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