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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538018" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>March</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The stormy March is come at last,<br>With wind, and cloud, and changing skies,<br>I hear the rushing of the blast,<br>That through the snowy valley flies.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, passing few are they who speak,<br>Wild stormy month! in praise of thee;<br>Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak,<br>Thou art a welcome month to me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For thou, to northern lands, again<br>The glad and glorious sun dost bring,<br>And thou hast joined the gentle train<br>And wear'st the gentle name of Spring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And, in thy reign of blast and storm,<br>Smiles many a long, bright, sunny day,<br>When the changed winds are soft and warm,<br>And heaven puts on the blue of May.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then sing aloud the gushing rills<br>And the full springs, from frost set free,<br>That, brightly leaping down the hills,<br>Are just set out to meet the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The year's departing beauty hides<br>Of wintry storms the sullen threat;<br>But in thy sternest frown abides<br>A look of kindly promise yet.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies,<br>And that soft time of sunny showers,<br>When the wide bloom, on earth that lies,<br>Seems of a brighter world than ours.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cullen+Bryant">William Cullen Bryant</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538018" data-title="March de William Cullen Bryant" data-description="The stormy March is come at last,
With wind, and cloud, and changing skies,
I hear the rushing of the blast,
That through the snowy valley flies.

Ah, passing few are they who speak,
Wild stormy month! in praise of thee;
Yet, though thy winds are ..."></div>
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