And I felt most decidedly hurt,
And I marked, as he leaned o’er the hopper again,
To examine the rubble and dirt,
He had sugar-bag sleeves to his shirt.
Oh, his boot soles were tied to the uppers with string,
And his beard swept his chest like a mat,
And I noted his eyes were as clear as the Spring—
(That is, Springtime at Pennyweight Flat)—
He had corks, also, strung to his hat.
But I flushed to the hair, as he tossed in his hand