My Little March Girl
Paul Laurence Dunbar
Wind-blown and rosy, my little March girl.
Hint of the violet’s delicate bloom,
Hint of the rose’s pervading perfume!
How can the wind help from kissing her face,—
Wrapping her round in his stormy embrace?
But still serenely she laughs at his rout,
She is the victor who wins in the bout.
So may life’s passions about her soul swirl,
Leaving it placid,—my little March girl.
What self-possession looks out of her eyes!
What are the wild winds, and what are the skies,
Frowning and glooming when, brimming with life,
Cometh the little maid ripe for the strife?
Ah! Wind, and bah! Wind, what might have you now?
What can you do with that innocent brow?
Blow, Wind, and grow, Wind, and eddy and swirl,
But bring to me, Wind,—my little March girl.
