TO MARCH: A Poem for the Month, by Emily Dickinson

[Well, we made it through February. That was a tough one! Now we just need to survive March. To brace ourselves, here is a poem about the month, from one of the great ones.]

Dear March, come in!
How glad I am!
I looked for you before.
Put down your hat —
You must have walked —
How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
And the rest?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,
I have so much to tell!

I got your letter, and the birds’;
The maples never knew
That you were coming, — I declare,
How red their faces grew!
But, March, forgive me —
And all those hills
You left for me to hue;
There was no purple suitable,
You took it all with you.

Who knocks? That April!
Lock the door!
I will not be pursued!
He stayed away a year, to call
When I am occupied.
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come,
That blame is just as dear as praise
And praise as mere as blame.

^^^

As part of Audere’s mission to bring more poetry to the masses, our sister publishing house, Chickadee Prince Books, publishes Bloomsbury’s Late Rose, an acclaimed novel about the poet, Charlotte Mew. Read more Audere poetry here.