We like
March – his
Shoes are
Purple –
He is new
and high –
Makes he
Mud for Dog
and Peddler –
Makes he
Forest dry –
Knows the
Adder′s Tongue
his coming
 

￤

And begets
her Spot.
Stands the Sun
so close and
mighty
That our
Minds are hot –
News is he of
all the others –
Bold it were
to die
With the Blue–
Birds buccaneering
On his British
Sky —