flying
E'en as the chicken-hawk flies when ready to light on its quarry.

Out in the leaf-dappled wood the dainty hepatica's blowing,
While the fiend hammers the rug from Ispahan, Lynn, or Woonsocket,
And the grim furnace is out, and over the ash heap and bottles
Capers the "Billy" in glee, becanning his innermost Billy.

Now the blue pill is on tap, and likewise the sarsaparilla,
And on the fence and the barn, quite worthy of S. Botticelli,
Frisk the lithe leopard and gnu, in malachite, purple, and crimson,
That we may know at a glance the circus is out on the rampage.

Put then the flannels away and trot out the old linen duster,
Pack the bob-sled in the barn, and bring forth the baseball and racket,
For the spry Spring is on deck, performing her roseate breakdown
Unto the tune of the van that rattles and bangs on the cobbles.




MEDITATIONS OF A MARINER[4]

BY WALLACE IRWIN


A-watchin' how the sea behaves
For hours and hours I sit;
And I know the sea is full o' waves--
I've often noticed it.