A blustering fellow goes prowling about;
He tosses the snow with a scuffle and shout,
And pinches the toes,
The ears, and the nose
Of each little darling, wherever he goes.
The timid birds hear him and hide their wee heads,
The mooly-cows shiver in barns and in sheds,
And sweet flowers say,
"At home we will stay
Until this noisy fellow gets out of the way."
A bright little maiden is soon on his track,
And gently, though firmly, she orders him back.
Oh, fair she appears,
In smiles and in tears;
She calls to the flowers, "Come up, pretty dears."
The birds hear her voice, and they twitter with glee,
And pink little buds peep the bright sky to see;
The grass twinkles out,
And lambs skip about,
And, oh, the glad children so merrily shout!
And who is this blustering chap, can you tell?
And who is this maiden who robes hill and dell,
Whose whisper so arch
Wakes oak-tree and larch?--
Why, she is Miss April, and he Mister March.