March

HE 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! A WAYFARING SONG Like an army defeated The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill; The ploughboy 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!