March

MARCH.

• In the snowing and the blowing,
  In the cruel sleet,
  Little flowers begin their growing
  Far beneath our feet.
• Softly taps the Spring, and cheerly,—
  "Darlings, are you here?"
  Till they answer, "We are nearly,
  Nearly ready, dear."
• "Where is Winter, with his snowing?
  Tell us, Spring," they say.
  Then she answers, "He is going,
  Going on his way.
• "Poor old Winter does not love you;
  But his time is past;
  Soon my birds shall sing above you;—
  Set you free at last."

Mary Mapes Dodge.