A Celebration Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis


A middle northern March now as alwaysA
gusts from the South broken against cold windsB
but from under as if a slow hand lifted a tideC
it moves not into April into a second MarchD
the old skin of wind clear scales droppingE
upon the mold this is the shadow projects the treeF
upward causing the sun to shine in his sphereG
So we will put on our pink felt hat new last yearG
newer this by virtue of brown eyes turning backH
the seasons and let us walk to the orchid houseI
see the flowers will take the prize tomorrowJ
at the PalaceK
Stop here these are our oleandersK
When they are in bloomL
You would waste wordsK
It is clearer to me than if the pinkM
were on the branch It would be a searching inN
a colored cloud to reveal that which now husklessK
shows the very reason for their beingE
And these the orange trees in blossom no needO
to tell with this weight of perfume in the airP
If it were not so dark in this shed one could betterQ
see the whiteR
It is that very perfumeL
has drawn the darkness down among the leavesK
Do I speak clearly enoughS
It is this darkness reveals that which darkness aloneT
loosens and sets spinning on waxen wingsK
not the touch of a finger tip not the motionU
of a sigh A too heavy sweetness provesK
its own caretakerQ
And here are the orchidsK
Never having seenV
such gaiety I will read these flowers for youW
This is an odd January died in Villon's timeX
Snow this is and this the stain of a violetY
grew in that place the spring that foresaw its own doomL
And this a certain July from IcelandZ
a young woman of that placeK
breathed it toward the South It took root thereP
The color ran true but the plant is smallA2
This falling spray of snow flakes isK
a handful of dead FebruariesK
prayed into flower by Rafael Arevalo MartinezK
of GuatemalaB2
Here's that old friend whoW
went by my side so many years this full fragileC2
head of veined lavender Oh that AprilC2
that we first went with our stiff lustsK
leaving the city behind out to the green hillD2
May they said she was A hand for all of usK
this branch of blue butterflies tied to this stemE2
June is a yellow cup I'll not name AugustF2
the over heavy one And here areG2
russet and shiny all but March And MarchD
Ah MarchD
Flowers are a tiresome pastimeX
One has a wish to shake them from their potsK
root and stem for the sun to gnawH2
Walk out again into the cold and saunter homeI2
to the fire This day has blossomed long enoughS
I have wiped out the red night and lit a blazeK
instead which will at least warm our handsK
and stir up the talkJ2
I think we have kept fair timeX
Time is a green orchardK2

William Carlos Williams


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