HEAR the sledges with the bells, Bells fashioned of a well-known metal. Up from the meadows rich with a prominent kind of grain, Clear in the cool September morn. The clustered spires of a small Southern town stand, Green walled by the hills of a famous state below Mason and Dixon's line. When as in a certain textile fabric my Julia goes, Then, then, methinks how sweetly flows The liquefaction of her feminine apparel. |