Classic Poem

I blow an arouse
 Thro' the world's wide house
To quicken the torpid earth:
 Grappling I fling
 Each feeble thing,
But bring strong life to the birth.
 I wrestle and frown,
 And topple down;
I wrench, I rend, I uproot;
 Yet the violet
 Is born where I set
The sole of my flying foot,[Hands violets and anemones to February, who retires into the background.]

 Frail windflowers quake,
And the catkins promise fruit.
 I drive ocean ashore
 With rush and roar,
And he cannot say me nay:
 My harpstrings all
 Are the forests tall,
Making music when I play.
 And as others perforce,
 So I on my course
Run and needs must run,
 With sap on the mount
 And buds past count
And rivers and clouds and sun,
 With seasons and breath
 And time and death
And all that has yet begun.[Before March has done speaking, a voice is heard approaching accompanied by a twittering of birds. April comes along singing, and stands outside and out of sight to finish her song.]