MARCH.

Over the dripping roofs and sunk snow-barrows

The bells are ringing loud and strangely near,

The shout of children dins upon mine ear

Shrilly, and like a flight of silvery arrows

Showers the sweet gossip of the British sparrows,

Gathered in noisy knots of one or two,

To joke and chatter just as mortals do

Over the days long tale of joys and sorrows;

Talk before bed-time of bold deeds together

Of thefts and fights, of hard-times and the weather,

Till sleep disarm them, to each little brain

Bringing tucked wings and many a blissful dream,

Visions of wind and sun, of field and stream,

And busy barn-yards with their scattered grain.