Black storms of March,
If you would mirror nature,
Be flashes of spanning mind,
Not strewn swirls of blind disorder.
Dull skies of April,
If you would judge God's creature,
Say brilliance soon holding sway,
Not stale sweeps of dayless pallor.
Gray dawns of May,
If you would show man's future,
Paint sun edge of ripened spring,
Not cloud heaps of clinging winter.