




















March. 
Ww ” Bryant. 
HE 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 joined 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. 
