When Early March Seems Middle May

When country roads begin to thaw

In mottled spots of damp and dust,

And fences by the margin draw

Along the frosty crust

Their graphic silhouettes, I say,

The Spring is coming round this way.

When morning-time is bright with sun

And keen with wind, and both confuse

The dancing, glancing eyes of one

With tears that ooze and ooze—

And nose-tips weep as well as they,

The Spring is coming round this way.

When suddenly some shadow-bird

Goes wavering beneath the gaze,

And through the hedge the moan is heard

Of kine that fain would graze

In grasses new, I smile and say,

The Spring is coming round this way.

When knotted horse-tails are untied,

And teamsters whistle here and there,

And clumsy mitts are laid aside,

And choppers' hands are bare,

And chips are thick where children play,

The Spring is coming round this way.

When through the twigs the farmer tramps,

And troughs are chunked beneath the trees,

And fragrant hints of sugar-camps

Astray in every breeze—

When early March seems middle-May,

The Spring is coming round this way.

When coughs are changed to laughs, and when

Our frowns melt into smiles of glee,

And all our blood thaws out again

In streams of ecstasy,

And poets wreak their roundelay,

The Spring is coming round this way.