March

 The Sun at noon to higher air, 
Unharnessing the silver Pair 
That late before his chariot swam, 
Rides on the gold wool of the Ram.
 

So braver notes the storm-cock sings 
To start the rusted wheel of things, 
And brutes in field and brutes in pen 
Leap that the world goes round again.
 

The boys are up the woods with day 
To fetch the daffodils away, 
And home at noonday from the hills 
They bring no dearth of daffodils.
 

Afield for palms the girls repair, 
And sure enough the palms are there, 
And each will find by hedge or pond 
Her waving silver-tufted wand.
 

In farm and field through all the shire 
The eye beholds the heart's desire; 
Ah, let not only mine be vain, 
For lovers should be loved again.

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