I WONDER what spendthrift chose to spill 

Such bright gold under my windowsill! 

Is it fairy gold? Does it glitter still? 

Bless me! It is but a daffodil! 

And look at the crocuses, keeping tryst 

With the daffodil by the sunshine kissed! 

Like beautiful bubbles of amethyst 

They seem, blown out of the earth's snow-mist. 

And snowdrops, delicate, fairy bells, 

With a pale green tint like the ocean swells; 

And the hyacinths weaving their perfumed spells! 

The ground is a rainbow of asphodels! 

Who said that March was a scold and a shrew? 

Who said she had nothing on earth to do 

But tempests and furies and rages to brew? 

Why, look at the wealth she has lavished on you! 

O March that blusters and March that blows, 

What color under your footsteps glows 

Beauty you summon from winter snows, 

And you are the pathway that leads to the rose.