March.

Early in the Springtime, on raw and windy mornings, Beneath the freezing house-eaves, I heard the starlings sing -- Ah! dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily? Sad, sad, to think that the year is but begun!

Late in the Autumn, on still and cloudless evenings, Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing -- Ah! that sweet March month, when we and our mates were courting merrily;
Sad, sad, to think that the year is all but done.

The Starlings.