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Harriet Monroe - March
Work rating: Low

I See the snow-drops flutter 
Their white wings in the gale. 
I hear the robin utter 
On high his gallant tale. 

Look where the rash wind chases 
With clouds the climbing sun! 
The day makes merry faces— 
Gaily her gray steeds run.
 
The bare brown trees are swinging, 
The curled waves roll and rail. 
Ho!—madcap Spring comes singing 
On frosty Winter`s trail!
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