Windy March weather, with a lone crow flying,
A little ebony airship careening down the blue,
And high, high above him a wild goose crying,
The leading cry, the clarion cry, that guides his grey lines through!

Windy March weather, with the pine trees singing,
Silver-red the brambles show and silver-green the birch,
And silver-grey a squirrel on a top branch swinging,-
A friendly elf who nods to me from his far perilous perch.

Windy March weather, with the tawny brook that hurries
Eager for the outward rush of rivers to the sea;
A tiny brook sun-dappled, that frets and sings and worries,
A rough adventurous little brook that calls and calls to me!

Windy March weather, and the old spring madness
Tempting us to take the trail that wanders free and far,-
Whispering of magic roads that wind to lands of gladness,
Where vanished joys and lost delights and garnered treasures are!