March

"March"
William Wordsworth   The cock is crowing,
  The stream is flowing,
  The small birds twitter,
  The lake doth glitter,
The green field sleeps in the sun;
  The oldest and  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 fare ill
  On the top of the bare hill;
The Plowboy is whooping-anon-anon:
  There's joy in the mountains;
  There's life in the fountains;
  Small clouds are sailing,
  Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone!