O, wind that blows
On the first day of March
That causes the branch to shiver
And the bough to arch;
That sweeps the pavements
Cleaner than humand hand
That freshens the chilly hilltop
And scours the pastureland;
That finds gaps around the edge
Of casements in their groan
Whose glass is the first to see
The moving air and moan;
O, wind that blows
In March on this first day
That wafts our sorrows high above
And blows our cares away
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem