To Jansenists, to lie i’ the brains o’ men,
I sell you for a lira, eight pence just,
Then home to Casa Guidi, by the Church.
And, British Public, ye who like me not,
I think i’ faith I’ve got the best of it!
——:o:——
MARCH: AN ODE.
Ere frost-flower and snow blossom faded and fell, and the splendour of winter had passed out of sight,
The ways of the woodlands were fairer and stranger than dreams that fulfil us in sleep with delight;
The breath of the mouths of the winds had hardened on tree-tops and branches that glittered and swayed.