We Like March, His Shoes Are Purple,

Emily Dickinson

We like March, his shoes are purple,
   He is new and high;
Makes he mud for dog and peddler,
   Makes he forest dry;
Knows the adder's tongue his coming,
   And begets her spot.
Stands the sun so close and mighty
   That our minds are hot.
News is he of all the others;
   Bold it were to die
With the blue-birds buccaneering
   On his British sky.

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• Emily Dickinson : We Like March
• Emily Dickinson : We Like A Hairbreadth 'scape
• Emily Dickinson : We Learned The Whole Of Love
• Emily Dickinson : We Learn It In Retreating
• Emily Dickinson : We Knew Not That We Were To Live-
• Emily Dickinson : We Introduce Ourselves
• Emily Dickinson : We Grow Accustomed To The Dark
• Emily Dickinson : We Dream-it Is Good We Are Dreaming
• Emily Dickinson : We Don't Cry-tim And I
• Emily Dickinson : We Do Not Play On Graves