Not alone Mary went when she moved her feet
(For a little lamb had Mary, sweet)
And it tagged her ’round with a pensive bleat,
And wherever she went it wanted to go—
A little lamb had Mary, sweet,
With a fleece that shamed the driven snow.
As Mr. Browning Has It.
You knew her?—Mary the small,
How of a summer—or, no, was it fall?