Classic Poem

March came one morn to the door of May,
And begged the maiden to let him stay.
“I went too soon,” was his whining prayer,
“I knew not the earth could grow so fair.”
So she let him in; and he promised her
He would hardly breathe and never stir.

And all day long he kept his word;
Naught from the sly old guest was heard.
Now and then he would breathe a sigh
And startle the blue-birds passing by;
Or hidden violets uncover,
Or try to blow some daisy over;
Yet, for the rest, he kept his word,—
He hardly breathed, and he never stirred,
Till the sweet May murmured: “Now, my dear,
We really do not need you here,
My flowers are frightened—don't you see?
They 'd rather be alone with me.”

High overhead the blossoms hung;
Full gently had the tree-tops swung.
But now he rose in sudden wrath
And whitened all the sunny path.
“Oho!” cried he, “if I must go
I 'll turn her blossoms into snow!”

Clinging and warm, they felt the spell.
Ah, how they fluttered, floated, fell!
The air was full of eddying bloom,—
A lightsome, flowery dance of doom.
In flurred heaps at last it lay,
Or drifted silently away;
And still he shook, “Good-bye! Good-bye!”
Then vanished in the trackless sky.

The branches whispered: “Now for fruit!”
And thrilled, with joy from tip to root.
May, kneeling, kissed the fragrant ground;
The air was filled with peace profound;
For all things smiled, and seemed to know
The promise of the blossom-snow.