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Remember: a poem a day keeps the doldrums away!

My Little March Girl
Paul Lawrence Dunbar

Come to the pane, draw the curtain apart,

There she is passing, the girl of my heart;

See where she walks like a queen in the street,

Weather-defying, calm, placid and sweet.

Tripping along with impetuous grace,

Joy of her life beaming out of her face,

Tresses all truant-like, curl upon curl,

Wind-blown and rosy, my little March girl.

Hint of the violet's delicate bloom,

Hint of the rose's pervading perfume!

How can the wind help from kissing her face, —

Wrapping her round in his stormy embrace?

But still serenely she laughs at his rout,

She is the victor who wins in the bout.

So may life's passions about her soul swirl,

Leaving it placid, —my little March girl.

What self-possession looks out of her eyes!

What are the wild winds, and what are the skies,

Frowning and glooming when, brimming with life,

Cometh the little maid ripe for the strife?

Ah! Wind, and bah! Wind, what might have you now?

What can you do with that innocent brow?

Blow, Wind, and grow, Wind, and eddy and swirl,

But bring to me, Wind, —my little March girl.


This poem is in the public domain.



Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906) was from Ohio. He wrote his first poem at the age of six, was editor of his high school newspaper, and published his first book at twenty. His writing attracted attention from the very beginning, and Paul became well-known in both America and around the world. Like James Whitcomb Riley, who was a fan of his young contemporary's work, Paul wrote many of his poems in dialect. Besides a dozen books of poetry, Paul wrote four short story collections, five novels, a play, and the first  Broadway musical ever written and performed by African-Americans. A tremendously successful poet whose work was being published in all the major literary publications of his day, Paul's life was cut tragically short by tuberculosis.


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