The Rabbit
All day this spring – the first he's known –
He lets himself be sideways blown
When the wind comes; he'll leap and pounce,
And try to rush two ways at once,
On feet that catch the very sound
Cascades make spattering to the ground.
Though men with difficulty sing how soon
They die, how seldom living they can thrive,
He makes a little dancing-tune
By only being alive;
No leaf that April winds blow off the tree
Falls and leaps round again so gay as he.
Camilla Doyle (1888-1944)
from Poems, 1923
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