Dawn in the garden, with the faintest sound, 

 Uncertain, tremulous, awaking birds*** 



PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON. 



MARCH 



Earliest Spring displays her treasures, 



Long in dead-leaf casket hid ; 

 Violets, first of flower treasures, 



Are displayed 'neath opened lid. 



Earth remembers not the cold ; 



Violets are in the wold ; 



What need she the white of snow, 



When the blue of violets show ? 



From your heart put snow away, 



Greeting violets to-day ! 



One by one are birds returning, 



One by one a flower blows, 

 Earth a new joy each hour learning, 



As cold March-time onward goes. 



Taking up the glad refrain, 



March winds chant it, and the rain 



Of fair April sings a praise, 



To the joy of violet days. 



Seeming evermore to say, 



" Violets are born to-day ! " 



TTOW well the blossoms and birds know the month I 

 * * They have no almanac to tell them the time of year ; 

 the birds have but the bursting buds ; the earliest flowers 

 the gentler rain and brighter skies to tell them it is March, 

 and the threshold of Spring. So surely true it is that ever, 

 year by year, never varying, 



"Thro' wild March the throstle calls," 

 and towards its calmer end 



" The primrose peeps beneath the thorn." 



58 



