"Grotesque!" we said, the moment we espied him, For there he stood, supreme in his conceit, With short ears close together and queer feet Planted irregularly: first we tried him With jokes, but they were lost; we then defied him With bantering questions and loose criticism: He did not like, I'm sure, our catechism, But whisked and snuffed a little as we eyed him. Then flung we balls, and out and clear away, Up the white slope, across the crusted snow, To where a broken fence stands in the way, Against the sky-line, a mere row of pegs, Quicker than thought we saw him flash and go, A straight mad scuttling of four crooked legs.