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Dear March -- Come in -- How glad I am -- I hoped for you before -- Put down your Hat -- You must have walked -- How out of Breath you are -- Dear March, Come right up the stairs with me -- I have so much to tell -- I got your Letter, and the Birds -- The Maples never knew that you were coming -- till I called I declare -- how Red their Faces grew -- But March, forgive me -- and All those Hills you left for me to Hue -- There was no Purple suitable -- You took it all with you -- Who knocks? That April. Lock the Door -- I will not be pursued -- He stayed away a Year to call When I am occupied -- But trifles look so trivial As soon as you have come That Blame is just as dear as Praise And Praise as mere as Blame --
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