When March has tuned his willow pipes,
The robins in the rain
Take up the song with plaintive notes
And sing the sweet refrain.

Then April, sleepy child of Spring,
Awakes, to music yields,
Goes dancing 'cross the fields.

The modest buds, once red and brown,
Burst forth in plumes of green,
And interlace the barren boughs
With wreaths of vernal sheen.

The old sun-dial beside the walk
Takes heart for sunny day;
But half-awake marks sleepy hours
By light through spring-time haze.

When March has tuned his willow pipes,
The children passing by
Kneel down and pluck the early flowers,
And smile, they know not why.

Literary Monthly, 1906.