WINDS blow cold in the bright March weather, Yet I heard her sing in the street to-day, The tattered garments scarce hung together Round her tiny form as she turned away; She was too little to know or care Why she and her mother were singing there. Skies are fair when the buds are springing, When the March sun rises up fresh and strong, And a little maid, with her mother, singing, Smiled in my face as she skipped along, She was too happy to wonder why She laughed and sang as she passed me by. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUNG BULLFROGS by CARL SANDBURG THE ECSTASY [EXTASIE] by JOHN DONNE THE SWAMP ANGEL by HERMAN MELVILLE SKIPPER IRESON'S RIDE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ON THE PRAIRIE by HERBERT BATES |