March

I See the snow-drops flutter

Their white wings in the gale.

I hear the robin utter

On high his gallant tale.

Look where the rash wind chases

With clouds the climbing sun!

The day makes merry faces—

Gaily her gray steeds run.

The bare brown trees are swinging,

The curled waves roll and rail.

Ho!—madcap Spring comes singing

On frosty Winter's trail!