Come to the pane, draw the curtain apart, <br />There she is passing, the girl of my heart; <br />See where she walks like a queen in the street, <br />Weather-defying, calm, placid and sweet. <br />Tripping along with impetuous grace, <br />Joy of her life beaming out of her face, <br />Tresses all truant-like, curl upon curl, <br />Wind-blown and rosy, my little March girl. <br /> <br />Hint of the violet's delicate bloom, <br />Hint of the rose's pervading perfume! <br />How can the wind help from kissing her face,-- <br />Wrapping her round in his stormy embrace? <br />But still serenely she laughs at his rout, <br />She is the victor who wins in the bout. <br />So may life's passions about her soul swirl, <br />Leaving it placid,--my little March girl. <br /> <br />What self-possession looks out of her eyes! <br />What are the wild winds, and what are the skies, <br />Frowning and glooming when, brimming with life, <br />Cometh the little maid ripe for the strife? <br />Ah! Wind, and bah! Wind, what might have you now? <br />What can you do with that innocent brow? <br />Blow, Wind, and grow, Wind, and eddy and swirl, <br />But bring her to me, Wind,--my little March girl.<br /><br />Paul Laurence Dunbar<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-little-march-girl/
