Cometh March with wind and rain;
Cometh March with sun and shine;
Cometh March the bold again —
Weather sombre; weather fine.

Here a bit of autumn shows;
Here a bit of spring appears;
Here a touch of summer-glows
Drives away the winter's tears.

What is March? 'Tis neither spring,
Winter, summer, nor the fall.
Singing now, now murmuring.
Little touches of them all.

Bits of trouble, bits of joy;
Days of peace and days of strife;
Frowning, smiling, pushing, coy —
March, epitome of life!