Poems (Schiller)/Merry March wind

by Rebecca Jane Schiller

MERRY MARCH WIND For the Pestalozzi Literary Society.

Onward thou sweepest, oh, wild wind of March,Over the house-top and over the arch;Over the hillside and over the plain,All the while whistling a wonderful strain.

Bending and swaying the trees in thy fun,Tossing the river waves high in the sunWhisking the hat from the school-boy's face,Teasing him off in a wild goose chase.

Gleefully tangling the long flowing curlsThat shadow the foreheads of beautiful girls,Till their fond lovers, half jealous, declareA wish that the gods would transform them to air.

See the fair maiden with daintiest feet,Whom thou o'ertakest on highway or street;Does she not blushingly give thee a frownFor thy wild pranks with her bonnet and gown?

Like a young giant, incited to wrath,Thou flingest each object away from thy path;Merry March wind, so hearty and hale,Canst thou not pity the things that are frail?

Out where the forms of our loved ones are laid,Is not the race of thy merriment stayed?No, I have watched thee dance gaily around,E'en where white marble betokens a mound.

Parting the long yellow grasses that fainWould shield the cold form from the pitiless rain;Rustling the dead leaves bestrewn o'er the earth,Never once checking thy wildness or mirth.

Onward thou sweepest, oh wild wind of March!Over the housetop, and over the arch;Over the hillside and over the plain,All the while whistling a wonderful strain.March 6, 1871.