Now the strong horse goes loose at last,
Free for his strength in the February's end,
Floods have left the meadows and gone past
To the broader rivers, rocks and sand.

Musing on old times, ploughboys go
Hoping to catch the lilt forgot
Of a tune their fathers recalled in glow
Of talking, or after cricket hot.

The year stirs wing and watches skies
Deep-in again; the girl is happy
With her white apron showing in the doorway's
Frame, daffodils thrill on hedgebanks ruddy.