_(With acknowledgments to the author)._

Month of the Winds (especially the East)
That staunch the young year's floods by dyke and dam,
Who enter like a lion, that great beast,
And make your egress like a woolly lamb;
Who come, as Mars full-armed for battle's shocks,
From lethargy of Winter's sloth to wean us,
Then melt (about the vernal equinox),
As he did in the softer arms of Venus;--

O Month, before your final moon is set,
Much may have happened--anything, in fact;
More than in any March that I have met
(Last year excepted) fearful nerves are racked;
Anarchy does with Russia what it likes;
Paris is put conundrums very knotty;
And here in England, with its talk of strikes,
Men, like your own March hares, seem going dotty.

Blow, then, with all your gales and clear our skies!
We did not win that War the other day
To please the Huns or gladden TROTSKY'S eyes
By fighting, kin with kin, this futile way;
Blow--not too hard, of course--I should not care
To inconvenience Mr. WILSON on his voyage--
But just enough to clean the germy air
And usher in the universal Joy-Age.

O.S.