• Now are the winds about us in their glee,
    Tossing the slender tree;
    Whirling the sands about his furious car,
    March cometh from afar;
    Breaks the sealed magic of old Winter’s dreams,
    And rends his glassy streams;
    Chafing with potent airs, he fiercely takes
    Their fetters from the lakes,
    And, with a power by queenly Spring supplied,...

  • The earth seems a desolate mother,—
      Betrayed like the princess of old,
    The ermine stripped from her shoulders,
      And her bosom all naked and cold.

    But a joy looks out from her sadness,
      For she feels with a glad unrest
    The throb of the unborn summer
      Under her bare, brown breast.

  • Slayer of winter, art thou here again?
    O welcome, thou that bring’st the summer nigh!
    The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain,
    Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.
    Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dry
    Make April ready for the throstle’s song,
    Thou first redresser of the winter’s wrong!

    Yea, welcome March! and though I...

  •   THE Cock is crowing,
      The stream is flowing,
      The small birds twitter,
      The lake doth glitter,
    The green field sleeps in the sun;
      The oldest and youngest
      Are at work with the strongest;
      The cattle are grazing,
      Their heads never raising;
    There are forty feeding like one!

      Like an army defeated...

  • [May 4 to December 21, 1864] 1
    OUR camp-fires shone bright on the mountains
      That frowned on the river below,
    While we stood by our guns in the morning
      And eagerly watched for the foe,
    When a rider came out of the darkness
      That hung over the mountain and tree,
    And shouted, “Boys, up and be ready!
      For Sherman will march to...

  • 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...

  • We like March.

    His Shoes are Purple —

    He is new and high —

    Makes he Mud for Dog and Peddler.

    Makes he Forests dry.

    Knows the Adder Tongue his coming

    And presents her Spot —

    Stands the Sun so close and mighty

    That our Minds are hot.


    News is he of all the others —...