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!
