Poem: “Written in March” By William Wordsworth

The cock is crowing,
The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,
The lake doth glitter,
The green filed sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and the 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 ploughboy is whooping – anon – anon –
There’s joy in the mountains;
There’s life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue skies are prevailing;
The rain is over and gone!