MARCH. 
411 
Then sing aloud the gushing rills 
And the full springs, from frost set free, 
That, brightly leaping down the hills, 
Are just set out to meet the sea. 
The year’s departing beauty hides 
Of wintry storms the sullen threat; 
But in thy sternest frown abides 
A look of kindly promise yet. 
Thou bring’st the hope of those calm skiee> 
And that soft time of sunny showers, 
When the wide bloom on earth that lies, 
Seems of a brighter world than ours. 
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