March

The lily that sways on its slender stalk

     Not half of her grace possesses;

And the Easter bloom with its rare perfume

     Its own poor worth confesses.

And the mad March winds with plume and skirt

     Cavort in their merriest measure

As the Easter maid like a queen arrayed

     Trips by in a realm of pleasure.

O maid of the Lent. your sacrifice

     Has been long and hard and cheerless;

And your self-denial with its wee, wan smile,

     Has been nothing short of peerless.

But now you are free to shine once more,

     Where splendor will be no sinning;

And it’s plain to see by your lingerie

     You have made a fair beginning.

Jan. 15, 1901