Still on the facing rival roofs
Two grey old cages could be seen,
And young reporters o’er their drinks
Would tell each other—jolly dogs—
Of ancient time
What in this rhyme
I’ve told of Zion Jersey Boggs.
THE BALLAD OF THE GREEN OLD MAN
It was a balmeous day in May, when spring was springing high
And all amid the buttercups the bees did butterfly;