Posts Tagged ‘March Poetry’

O, March!

March 1, 2012


O, fickle winds of March, blow warm, blow cold!
Your ever-changing temper matches mine.
Today my mood in love is fearless, bold.
O, fickle winds of March, blow warm, blow cold!

What tender passions may tomorrow hold,
If winds blow warm and thus my thoughts incline?
Or, fickle winds of March, blow warm, blow cold!
Your ever-changing temper matches mine!

— Susan Doudican

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 14, 1936


Slayer of winter, are thou here again?
O welcome, thou that bring’st the summer nigh!
The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain,
Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.
Welcome O March! whose kindly days and dry
Make April ready for the throstle’s song,
Thou first redresser of the winter’s wrong!

Yea, welcome, March! and though I die ere June,
Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise,
Striving to swell the burden of the tune
That even now I hear thy brown birds raise,
Unmindful of the past or coming days;
Who sing, “O joy! a new year is begun!
What happiness to look upon the sun!”

O, what begetteth all this storm of bliss,
But Death himself, who, crying solemnly,
Even from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness,
Bids us, “Rejoice! lest pleasure less ye die
Within a little time must ye go by.
Stretch forth your open hands, and while ye live,
Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give.”

— William Morris

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 26, 1936


The Cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and the youngest
Are at work with the strongest;
The cattle are grazing,
Their heads never raising;
There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill
On the top of the bare hill;
The plowboy is whooping-anon-anon,
There’s joy in the mountains;
There’s life in the fountains,
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone!

— William Wordsworth

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 12, 1937


Now are the winds about us in their glee,
Tossing the slender tree;
Whirling the sands about his furious car,
March cometh from afar;
Breaks the sealed magic of old Winter’s dreams,
And rends his glassy streams;
Chafing with potent airs, he fiercely takes
Their fetters from the lakes,
And, with a power by queenly Spring supplied,
Wakens the slumbering tide.

With a wild love he seeks young Summer’s charms
And clasps her to his arms;
Lifting his shield between, he drives away
Old Winter from his prey —
The ancient tyrant whom he boldly braves,
Goes howling to his caves;
And, to his northern realm compelled to fly,
Yields up the victory;
Melted are all his banks, o’er-thrown his towers,
And March comes bringing flowers.

— William Gilmore Simms.

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Feb 25, 1938


The braggart March stood in the season’s door
With his broad shoulders blocking up the way,
Shaking the snow-flakes from the cloak he wore,
And from the fringes of his kirtle gray;
Near by him April stood with tearful face,
With violets in her hands, and in her hair
Pale, wild anemones; the fragrant lace
Half-parted from her breast which seemed like fair,
Dawn-tinted mountain snow, smooth-drifted there.

She on the blusterer’s arm laid one white hand,
But he would none of her soft blandishment,
Yet did she plead with tears none might withstand,
For even the fiercest hearts at last relent.
And he, at last, in ruffian tenderness,
With one swift, crushing kiss her lips did greet.
Ah, poor starved heart! — for that one rude caress,
She cast her violets underneath his feet.

— Robert Burns Wilson

The Oshkosh Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Apr 1, 1938

March, March, A Song for March

March 19, 2011

Image from I Photo Central.


Where the gusty skies o’erarch
Hill and hollow, rock and river,
Comes the blustering wind of March,
Setting all the reeds a-shiver;
Leafless willow tree and arch,
How their branches shake and quiver!

Touch of grasses on the hill
Where the awkward lambs are playing;
Color-glints that nestle still
Where the violets are staying;
Sound of waters by the mill
Where the current down is straying.

Swallows in their figured flight,
Upward rising, downward dipping,
Pass, as would ashaft of light
Into opened shutter slipping,
Now above in airy height,
Now across the mill-pond skipping.

Now the world is in its prime,
Banished all the signs of sadness,
Spring’s wild winds are set to rhyme
Sweeter than midsummer’s madness;
Even on the face of Time —
Old and wrinkled — there is gladness.

— Ernest McGaffey in Women’s Home Companion.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 4, 1899

Image from the Historical Boys’ Clothing website.


March! and all the winds cry, March!
As they sweep the heaven’t arch,
Polishing the stars that gem
Earth’s resplendent diadem;
Setting all the waters free
From the winter’s chancery,
Sending down an avalanche
From the tree’s snow-covered branch.
March makes clear the frosty track
That the birds may hasten back
On their northward flight and bring
Jocund carols for the spring.
March is merry, march is mad,
March is gay and March is sad;
Every humor we may know
If we list the winds that blow,
Have you heard the bugle call
Gathering the soldiers all?
March is Springs’ own trumpeter,
Hailing us to welcome her.

— Frank Dempster Sherman in Exchange.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 12, 1900

Image from the Rampant Scotland website.


It is the roaring month of March.
The wild northeaster bends the larch;
The gray rain beating on the wold
Has closed the crocus cups of gold,

Adown the dale, adown the dale,
The thrush pipes sadly to the gale;
His song is sad, and I would hear
The anthem of the coming year.

But there will be an April day —
The thrush will pipe another lay,
And we will find on greener hills
White violets and daffodils.

— Eric Parker in March St. Nicholas.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 13, 1900

Image from the Finnish Blog, Lankokamero.


I am the bringer of the swallow.
I bring with grass the woodland hollow —
I open up the folded mallow,
I hang the willow with green laces.
In marshy places
I set the shining golden faces
Of kingcups, with the gorse to follow.
I am the life of daffodils
Deep in the valley on the hills
I am the wind that sways the grasses;
I am the love ‘twixt lads and lasses,
Love that is sweet and swiftly passes;
I dust with golden meal the sallow;
I am deep water and the shallow —
I am the blossom on the mallow.

— Nora Hopper in Exchange.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 29, 1900

Image from the Old Tonbridge History website.


Sing ho! sing ho, for the sleet and snow!
For the stormy March and the winds that blow
From north and south, now high, now low,
Or chill or warm!
Oh, March is the month of months for me;
Its south winds set old winter free,
And tell of the springtime soon to be
With all its charm.

Sing ho, for March on the sea’s bleak shore,
Where the bracing breezes evermore
Blow up from the ocean bearing before,
The salty spray!
Sing ho! for March among the hills!
Melting snow filling the ice-rimmed rills,
Streams rushing madly past meadows and mills
Day after day.

Sing ho, for the roughest month of all,
When shrill o’er the tempest sounds the call
Of the crow from woodland tree-top tall,
Telling of spring!
And ho, for the waning winter days,
When the lingering north winds cold delays
April’s coming, and chills the sun’s red rays!
Oh, March is king!

— Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 5, 1901


By coincidence, all the images happen to be from other countries, while all the poems were published in American newspapers.