Praise.

Jackson, March Storm, 1920

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 loud and bleak,

Thou art a welcome month to me.

For thou, to northern lands, again

The glad and glorious sun dost bring,

And thou hast joined the gentle train

And wear'st the gentle name of Spring ...

William Cullen Bryant, from "March"