A Poem for March, as April Comes Knocking...by Emily Dickinson

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Dear March - Come In! 
by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886) 

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.

Born in 1830 in Massachusetts, Emily Dickinson lived in almost total physical isolation from the outside world and is now considered, along with Walt Whitman, the founder of a uniquely American poetic voice.