Oh, the music in the air!
An’ the joy that’s ivrywhere –
Shure, the whole blue vault of heaven is wan grand triumphal arch,
An’ the earth below is gay
Wid its tender green th’-day,
Fur the whole world is Irish on the Seventeenth o’ March!

Thomas Augustin Daly

The sprites of the fruits, and flowers, and leaves,
They had long been out at play…
But the stirring blast that clarion cast,
Oh, it broke their holiday!—
And they hurry home at their topmost speed,
Flurried and flushed with the sudden need,
Sprinkling the earth as they pass along
With a flood of colour and gush of song—
For the Summer is coming to wed the Spring,
And earth on their altar her wealth shall fling,
And the Heaven’s soft odours and breezes bring,
And the hollow heights and the depths shall ring
With a wild overgushing of gladdening…

J.J. Britton (1832–1913), “March”

The year’s at the spring
And day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hillside’s dew-pearled;
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn;
God’s in His heaven –
All’s right with the world!

Robert Browning