Ah, March! We Know Thou Art Kind-hearted,

On The King's Gate The Moss Grew Gray;the King Came Not. They Called Him Deadand Made His Eldest Son One Dayslave In His Father's Stead.

Who Longest Waits Most Surely Wins.

Bee To The Blossom, Moth To The Flame; Each To His Passion; What's In A Name?

But All Lost Things Are In The Angels' Keeping, Love; No Past Is Dead For Us, But Only Sleeping, Love; The Years Of Heaven With All Earth's Little Pain Make Good Together There We Can Begin Again, In Babyhood.

By All These Lovely Tokens September Days Are Here, With Summer's Best Of Weather And Autumn's Best Of Cheer.