March

“The cock is crowing,

The stream is flowing,

The small birds twitter,

The lake doth glitter,

The green fields sleep in the sun;

The oldest and the youngest

Are at work with the strongest;

The cattle are grazing,

Their heads never raising;

There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated

The snow hath retreated,

And now doth fair ill

On the top of the hill;

The plowboy is whopping-anon-anon:

There’s joy in the mountains;

There’s life in the fountains;

Small clouds are sailing

The rain is over and gone!”

William Wordsworth

Image courtesy uphillwriting.org.