Standing by the window, the speaker watches a young woman walk down the street, and his affection pours out unchecked. She’s the “girl of his heart,” moving with a queen’s unbothered poise through rough March weather, her hair wild, her cheeks flushed, her face lit with life. He delights in the contrast between her serene warmth and the blustering wind, imagining the wind can’t help but want to embrace her. But she laughs it off — she wins not by fighting, but by simply being herself. That same steadiness, he hopes, will carry her through whatever storms life throws at her later. The whole poem is full of tender admiration and a fresh, skipping-along-the-sidewalk kind of happiness. It leaves you with the feeling of a crisp, bright, blustery day made sweet by the sight of someone who seems to carry spring inside her.
My Little March Girl — Summary
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.