March By Mary B. C. Slade

The stormy March has come again,—
March! March! March!
And rattling down the window pane,—
March! March! March!
Come rushing torrents of the rain,—
March! March! March!
But o’er my head my hat I swing,
And shout hurrah! like anything!
Because it is the first of Spring,—
March! March! March!