March by Edward Thomas — Read

Now I know that Spring will come again, Perhaps to-morrow: however late I've patience After this night following on such a day.

While still my temples ached from the cold burning Of hail and wind, and still the primroses Torn by the hail were covered up in it, The sun filled earth and heaven with a great light And a tenderness, almost warmth, where the hail dripped, As if the mighty sun wept tears of joy.