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...KU KLUX by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY LINES WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH SONNET TO THE HUNGARIAN NATION by MATTHEW ARNOLD SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 29. CHRIST AND ENGLAND by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: MITIGATIONS by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |