Chapter VIII

March ain't never nothin' new!
Aprile's altogether too
Brash fer me! and May--I jes'
'Bominate its promises,
Little hints o' sunshine and
Green around the timber-land--
A few blossoms, and a few
Chip-birds, and a sprout er two,--
Drap asleep, and it turns in
'Fore daylight and SNOWS ag'in!--
But when JUNE comes--Clear my th'oat
With wild honey!--Rench my hair
In the dew! and hold my coat!
Whoop out loud! and th'ow my hat!--
June wants me, and I'm to spare!
Spread them shadders anywhere,
I'll git down and waller there,
And obleeged to you at that!

SEPTEMBER DARK

I

The air falls chill;
The whippoorwill
Pipes lonesomely behind the hill:
The dusk grows dense,
The silence tense;
And lo, the katydids commence.

II

Through shadowy rifts
Of woodland, lifts
The low, slow moon, and upward drifts,
While left and right
The fireflies' light
Swirls eddying in the skirts of Night.