posted on 2024-04-25, 17:29authored byFirst World War Poetry Digital Archive Project Team
<p dir="ltr"> But these things also are Spring's---<br> On banks by the roadside the grass<br> Long-dead that is greyer now<br> Than all the Winter it was;<br> The shell of a little snail bleached<br> In the grass; chip of flint, and mite<br> Of chalk; and the small birds' dung<br> In splashes of purest white:<br> All the white things a man mistakes<br> For earliest violets<br> Who seeks through Winter's ruins<br> Something to pay Winter's debts,<br> While the North blows, and starling flocks<br> By chattering on and on<br> Keep their spirits up in the mist,<br> And Spring's here, Winter's not gone.<br></p>