March Winds

Discover hope and renewal through the uplifting verses of March Winds.

March winds herald April's coming bloom.

Short Poems & Quotes  |   Poems About The Seasons  |   Winter Poems  |   March Winds

Updated March 28, 2025, by Catherine Pulsifer


Discover hope and renewal through the uplifting verses of March Winds. As the final chill of winter lingers and the world seems caught between seasons, the winds of March begin to stir the air with quiet promise. Though the trees may still be bare and the flowers yet to bloom, there is a gentle stirring—a whisper of new beginnings just around the corner.

In her poem March Winds, Mrs. M. J. E. Crawford captures this in-between time with thoughtful grace. Her words remind us that even before spring fully arrives, the breeze carries hints of warmth, of growth, and of life ready to awaken. There is a mystery to the March winds—an unseen fragrance, a soft melody—that lifts our spirits and assures us that brighter days are coming.

This poem is more than just a reflection on nature; it's a message of encouragement. It teaches us that beauty often begins beneath the surface and that even in the quietest moments, change is taking place. Like the winds that move gently through the stillness, hope finds its way into our hearts when we least expect it.

Let this poem be a gentle reminder that, no matter how long the winter, spring is always on its way.



March Winds

Poet: Mrs. M. J. E. Crawford

The balmy scent of spring is on the breeze;
'Tis not the scent of flowers, they bloom not yet;
'Tis not the early blossoming of trees,
Their tiny leaf-buds are not more than set;
I know not whence the breathing fragrance flows,

Which comes upon the first warm breath of spring,
Long ere the violet or early rose
Unfold their sweets to woo the zephyr's wing;
Mayhap it cometh from the dark-brown earth
Where sleeps the loveliness of summer hours,

And the young winds have in their early mirth
Stirred up the odors of the perished flowers.
I know not, and it matters not to know,
The secret of the March wind's balmy breath;
I love it better that its murmurs low

Are waked in scenes which wear the hue of death -
The mourning hue which chilly autumn gave -
It sounds like music breathed above the tomb,
Whose soft notes tell of hope beyond the grave,
As March winds herald April's coming bloom.



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The March winds carry a gentle promise that spring is on its way.

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