[Illustration]
_Shifting winds and lowering sky—March._
_Bleak and bare the brown fields lie—March._
_Winter’s spectre now is laid,_
_Yet Spring lingers, half afraid._
_Haste, oh Spring, your tasks are set, March!_
_You are late, do you forget? March!_
_Long before this time last year,_
_Bluebird and his mate were here._
—_J. Torrey Connor._