Early In Spring Time, On Raw And Windy Mornings, Beneath The Freezing House-Eaves I Heard The Starlings Sing - 'Ah Dreary March Month, Is This Then A Time For Building Wearily? Sad, Sad, To Think That The Year Is But Begun.' Late In The Autumn, On Still And Cloudless Evenings, Among The Golden Reed-Beds I Heard The Starlings Sing - 'Ah That Sweet March Month, When We And Our Mates Were Courting Merrily; Sad, Sad, To Think That The Year Is All But Done.' Eversley, 1848.