Explore "To March" by Emily Dickinson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Dear March, come in!
How glad I am!
I looked for you before.
Put down your hat -- / You must have walked -- / How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
And the rest?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me, / I have so much to tell!
I got your letter, and the birds'; / The maples never knew / That you were coming, -- I declare, / How red their faces grew!
But, March, forgive me -- / And all those hills / You left for me to hue; / There was no purple suitable, / You took it all with you.
Who knocks? That April!
Lock the door!
I will not be pursued!
He stayed away a year, to call / When I am occupied.
But trifles look so trivial / As soon as you have come, / That blame is just as dear as praise / And praise as mere as blame.