by Emily Dickinson
Dear March, come in!
How glad I am!
I looked for you before.
Put down your hat-
You must have walked-
How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
And the rest?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,
I have so much to tell.
Oh, there's music in the forests
And there's music in the glen,
As the birds are warbling greetings
To the spring that's come again.
All their piping is so merry
That the woodlands seem to ring,
With the praises of the birdsongs
For the coming of the spring.
Join the joyous woodland chorus
And raise high your voice in cheer,
Join the birdsongs in thanksgiving
For the springtime of the year!