Works

JANUARY


Now Time the harvester surveys
His sorry crops of yesterdays;
Of trampled hopes and reaped regrets,
And for another harvest whets
His ancient scythe, eying the while...

THIS is the Yak, so neg-li-g'e:
His coif-fure's like a stack of hay;
He lives so far from Any-where,
I fear the Yak neg-lects his hair,
And thinks, since there is none to see,...