Bulletin of 
Zhc (3ar6cn Club 
of Hmerica 
March, 1921 
No. VIII (New Series) 
President 
MRS. S. V. R. CROSBY 
OS Beacon Street, Boston, and 
Manchester, Mass. 
Treasurer 
MRS. WILLIAM RAND 
Rye, New York 
Secretary 
MRS. HAROLD I. PRATT 
830 Fifth Ave., New York, and 
Glen Cove, L. I. 
Librarian 
MRS. FREDERICK L. RHODES 
Short Huxs, New Jersey 
1st Vice-President 
MRS. SAMUEL SLOAN 
4S E. S3D Street, New York, and 
Garrison, New York 
znd Vice-President 
MRS. JOHN A. STEWART, Jr. 
Short Hills, New Jersey 
3rd Vice-President 
MRS. SAMUEL H. TAFT 
3329 Morrison Avenue, 
Clipton, Cincinnati, Ohio 
4th Vice-President 
MRS. FRANCIS B. CROWINSHIELD 
164 Marlboro St., Boston, Mass., 
AND MaeBLEHEAD, MaSS. 
Editor 
MRS. WALTER S. BREWSTER 
13 20 Lake Shore Drive, Chicago, and Lake Forest, Illinois 
The objects of this association shall be: to stimulate the knowledge and love of gardening among 
amateurs; to share the advantages of association, through conference and correspondence in this 
country and abroad; to aid in the protection of native plants and birds; and to encourage civic planting. 
WINDS OF MARCH 
From north and south they blow, from From north and south they blow, from 
east and west, east and west, 
Blow and do never rest. Blow and do never rest. 
Out of the aching stillness of the pole, 
Where month-long midnights roll. 
And freezing stars glint keen on track- 
less snows. 
The bitter north wind blows. 
From saffron sky at clear cold break of 
day. 
East winds untethered play, 
And on the hill-tops rock the pine's 
black spire 
Against the yellow fire. 
Where to the west the wide gray 
marshes sweep. 
At eve the wet winds weep 
And breathe a whispering tale of rainy 
dawns 
On far off upland lawns. 
And from the south-land bound a 
boisterous crew 
With flying gleams of blue. 
And fleet cloud shadows racing on the 
hills. 
And breath of daffodils. 
From chilly dawn till twilight, piping 
shrill, _ 
March winds are never still. 
Till they have blown black winter from 
the sky 
And April hovers nigh ; — 
Then come with sandals loosed and 
hair imbound, 
Swift over quickening ground. 
And to thine own four winds thy gar- 
ments fling. 
Our Maenad month of Spring. 
Walter Pierce in The Yale Review, 19 14 
