Explore "A Calendar of Sonnets" by Helen Hunt Jackson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Month which the warring ancients strangely styled / The month of war, -- as if in their fierce ways / Were any month of peace! -- in thy rough days / I find no war in Nature, though the wild / Winds clash and clang, and broken boughs are piled / At feet of writhing trees. The violets raise / Their heads without affright, without amaze, / And sleep through all the din, as sleeps a child. / And he who watches well may well discern / Sweet expectation in each living thing. / Like pregnant mother the sweet earth doth yearn; / In secret joy makes ready for the spring; / And hidden, sacred, in her breast doth bear / Annunciation lilies for the year.