“No, March hares are very timid,” the twins said. “They are terribly afraid of meeting the March lion at a sudden corner,” the yellow-haired twin added. “That is on their minds a great deal.”
“The very best way to get close to a March hare,” said the black-haired boy, “is to take a reserved seat at the annual March-hare ball.”
Then the two brothers told this tale; and Amos and Ann saw no reason for not believing it:—
“Maybe nobody’s told you
(For very few people know)
What happens down in the meadow brown
At the fall of the first March snow.
“A flute-note sounds on the midnight,
Blown by a fairy boy,
And the rabbits rush from the underbrush,
All nearly mad with joy.
“Round and round in the wild wind,
Faster and faster they prance;
The moon comes out and looks about,
And laughs to see them dance.
“Cold frost covers their whiskers,
But never their hind legs tire,
And whenever a hare feels a flake on his ear,
He leaps a full inch higher!
“Harum-scarum and happy,
They frolic the whole night through;
Maybe you’ll hear them dance, this year
(Though very few mortals do).”