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Vol. XVI. February, 1904. No. 6.
The stormy March is come at last,
With wind and cloud, and changing skies,
1 hear the rushing of the blast,
That through the snowy valley flies.
Ah, passing few are they who speak,
Wild, stormy, month! in praise cf thee;
Yet though thy winds are loud and bleak,
Thou art a welcome month to me.
For in thy reign of blast and storm,
Smiles many a warm, bright, sunny day,
When the changed winds are soft and
And heaven puts on the blue of May.