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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHAMBER MUSIC: 15 by JAMES JOYCE MARJORIE'S WOOING by EMMA LAZARUS WAITING IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL by CLARENCE MAJOR AUTUMN SONG by KATHERINE MANSFIELD DOMESDAY BOOK: DR. TRACE TO THE CORONER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |