By Ruby Archer
The flag of March is wide outflung,—
A banner all of ice;
But while the dazzling folds are swung
Where Boreas’ winds entice,
I watch the ripples gliding.
I look where erst the snowflake clung,
And lo!—the banner in a trice
Unfolds prophetic a device—
Blue violets in hiding!
* * * * *
The Earth awakes, puts off her snowy cover,
Still idly dreaming of the Sun,
Not yet aware the presence of her lover
Until a vagrant kiss is won.
She swiftly turns, her snowy garment seeking,
And finds it stolen by the Hours.
Then in a flutter, all too shy for speaking,
She veils her in a blush of flowers.