GOOSE À LA MODE
—Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
WITHIN the garden's deepness filled of light
Stood Mary, and upon her fair green gown
Fell glory of gold hair, a stern sweet frown
Was on her forehead, slim cold hands and white
Made ending of her long pale arms' delight.
And questioning, I—"How does your garden grow?"
Then she—"With bells that ring, and shells that sing