How the doors rattle, and the branches sway!
Here brother March comes whirling on his way
With winds that eddy and sing:—
(She turns the handle of the door, which bursts open, and discloses March hastening up, both hands full of violets and anemones.)
Come, show me what you bring;
For I have said my say, fulfilled my day,
And must away.
March
(Stopping short on the threshold)
I blow an arouse
Through the world’s wide house
To quicken the torpid earth;
Grappling I fling
Each feeble thing,
But bring strong life to the birth.
I wrestle and frown,
And topple down;
I wrench, I rend, I uproot;
Yet the violet
Is born where I set
The sole of my flying foot.
(Hands violet and anemones to February, who retires into the background.)
And in my wake
Frail wind-flowers quake,
And the catkins promise fruit.
I drive ocean ashore
With rush and roar,
And he cannot say me nay:
My harpstrings all
Are the forests tall,
Making music when I play.
(Before March has done speaking, a voice is heard approaching accompanied by a twittering of birds. April comes along singing, and stands outside and out of sight to finish her song.)
April