Classic Poem

The earth is dark and cold to-night;
The heavens are full of rain;
And swathed in robes of muffling cloud,
Comes stormy March again.

The herald of the Spring is he,
Though clad in icy mail;
Along the land I hear him wind
His war-horn of the gale!

The flower-seeds in the frozen ground,
Soon as his voice they hear,
Whisper among themselves,—Behold,
The golden days are near!

He leads his sisters by the hand—
His younger sisters two,
Sweet April with a violet,
And May with eyes of blue.

The first, she only weeps and weeps,
With some mysterious woe;
Her gracious tears they fall in showers,
That thaw the earth below.

But pensive to the last, she dies;
And lo! abouTher bed
Upspring a thousand tender plants,
To mourn the early dead.

But when they see the jolly May,
Forgetting all their gloom—
They put their gayest garments on,
And laugh outright in bloom!