WINDS O' MARCH 



t,OUR truest weather chameleon is 

 the March wind. April breezes 

 may be daintily fickle aweep, 

 asmile in the self-same hour 

 but it is wind o' March that 

 sits steady in the south, blowing high, blow- 

 ing low, till spring laughs through all the 

 land, then whirls him to the bitter north- 

 west, piles cloud on cloud, pelts all the world 

 with sleet. 



He spares not even the 



"Daffodils, 



That come before the swallow dares, and take 

 The winds of March with beauty." 



Captive he may be, yet thrice cruel to his love. 

 See ! he has bedecked her with such weight 

 of diamonds her yellow head lies low, never 

 to rise again, nor dance and ruffle it, when 

 softer airs do blow. Perhaps his thought 

 is to make the world so splendid, no eye 

 would ever miss the fine glory of blossoms. 

 A true enchanter he ! Yesterday the world 



