Written in March

The cock is crowing, 
The stream is flowing, 
The small birds twitter, 
The lake doth glitter 
The green field sleeps in the sun; 
The oldest and youngest 
Are at work with the strongest; 
The cattle are grazing, 
Their heads never raising; 
There are forty feeding like one! 

Like an army defeated 
The snow hath retreated, 
And now doth fare ill 
On the top of the bare hill; 
The plowboy is whooping- anon-anon: 
There's joy in the mountains; 
There's life in the fountains; 
Small clouds are sailing, 
Blue sky prevailing; 
The rain is over and gone! 

William Wordsworth