March blossoms and birdsong...

I've just been out in the garden, admiring the new petals and primroses, hoping the magnolia buds will survive the cold nights, and looking forward to the blooming of my favourite scented clematis. The evergreen clematis was one of the first plants that I put in the garden when we moved here, nearly eight years ago, when the borders were still very bare, and I'm so glad it's thriving.
A blackbird is singing from atop a chimney pot, and there's a small chorus of song-thrushes, too... I wish you could hear them right now...
But here is Emily Dickinson to read instead:

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 bird’s;
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.