Suppose you ask, “Who has been bad?”
And then you’ll hear what’s true;
For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone:
“Yoooooo! Yoooooooooo! Yoooooooooo!”
—Eugene Field.
THE BLUE BIRD’S SONG.
Little white snowdrop, I pray you arise:
Bright yellow crocus, come, open your eyes:
Sweet little violets hid from the cold,
Put on your mantles of purple and gold.