The stormy March has come at last, with winds and clouds and changing skies. I hear the rushing of the blast that through the snowy valley flies.
There is no glory in star or blossom till looked upon by a loving eye; There is no fragrance in April breezes till breathed with joy as they wander by.
The stormy March has come at last, With winds and clouds and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies.
