MARCH
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he sun at noon to higher air,Unharnessing the silver PairThat late before his chariot swam,Rides on the gold wool of the Ram. So braver notes the storm-cock singsTo start the rusted wheel of things,And brutes in field and brutes in penLeap that the world goes round again. The boys are up the woods with dayTo fetch the daffodils away,And home at noonday from the hillsThey 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 pondHer waving silver-tufted wand. In farm and field through all the shireThe eye beholds the heart's desire;Ah, let not only mine be vain,For lovers should be loved again.
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