Classic Poem

Now shrink not from me for shamefacedness,
O sober fields of March beneath the sky!
Your brown and gray, your russet robes, may bless
With deep delight a lover's loyal eye;
And lover such and always fain would I
Be reckoned, who in all my blood to-day,
Long winter-sluggish, feel a mighty wine,
The wind of spring that sings along its way,
And makes a music that is festal-fine.
O sober fields of March, your mood is deep, divine!