March

Windy March weather, with a lone crow flying, A little ebony airship careening down the blue, And high, high above him a wild goose crying, The leading cry, the clarion cry, that guides his grey lines through!

Windy March weather, with the pine trees singing, Silver-red the brambles show and silver-green the birch, And silver-grey a squirrel on a top branch swinging,-- A friendly elf who nods to me from his far perilous perch.

Windy March weather, with the tawny brook that hurries Eager for the outward rush of rivers to the sea; A tiny brook sun-dappled, that frets and sings and worries, A rough adventurous little brook that calls and calls to me!

Windy March weather, and the old spring madness Tempting us to take the trail that wanders free and far,-- Whispering of magic roads that wind to lands of gladness, Where vanished joys and lost delights and garnered treasures are!