split the lark—

When the day is done, my mind turns to her, and I think, with a special heat, “why are we to be separated?”

by Emily Dickinson

Dear March–Come in– How glad I am– I hoped 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