March, that comes roaring, maned, with rampant paws,
And bleatingly withdraws;
March,—‘ tis the year's fantastic nondescript,
That, born when frost hath nipped
The shivering fields, or tempest scarred the hills,
Dies crowned with daffodils.
The month of the renewal of the earth
By mingled death and birth:
But, England! in this latest of thy years
Call it — the Month of Tears.