Classic Poem

Whilst the stubborn human race
Is intent upon its sinning,
March, who laughs in Winter's face,
Slyly plans the spring's beginning.

Round the dainty Easter daisies,
While the dreaming world is still,
Cunningly the fringe he raises,
Shapes each golden ball with skill.

He's to Nature, as I take it,
Chief hair-dresser, and with fine
Snow he fills his puff, to shake it
Over tree and whitened vine.

Now she in her couch reposes;
He is in the garden seen
Lacing tight the coy young roses
In their corset's velvet green.

Now and then a sweet wind-ditty
To the merl he whistles low;
Here and there his hands the pretty
Violets and snowdrops sow.

By the fountain side he lingers;
Where the shy stag drinks he dwells,
Opening with unseen fingers
Lily-of-the-valley bells.

He is hiding in the meadow
Strawberries of vermeil hue;
He is weaving coolest shadow
From the sun to shelter you.

Soon his labors' end discerning,
Knowing that his reign is o'er,
Toward April's threshold turning,
Cries he: " Spring, come out of door! "