March

Over the dripping roofs and sunk snow-barrows, The bells are ringing loud and strangely near, The shout of children dins upon mine ear Shrilly, and like a flight of silvery arrows Showers the sweet gossip of the British sparrows, Gathered in noisy knots of one or two, To joke and chatter just as mortals do Over the days long tale of joys and sorrows; Talk before bed-time of bold deeds together, Of thefts and fights, of hard-times and the weather, Till sleep disarm them, to each little brain Bringing tucked wings and many a blissful dream, Visions of wind and sun, of field and stream, And busy barn-yards with their scattered grain.