W f' Bryant. 
fTlHE stormy March is come at last. 
With wind, and cloud, and changing skies 
I hear the rushing of the blast 
That through the snowy valley flies. 
Ah ! passing few are they who speak, 
Wild, stormy month, in praise of thee; 
Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, 
Thou art a welcome month to me. 
For thou to northern lands again 
The glad and glorious sun doth bring, 
And thou hast joine-d the gentle train, 
And wear’st the gentle name of Spring. 
And in thy reign of blast and storm, 
Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day, 
When the changed winds are soft and warm, 
And heaven puts on the blue of May. 
