Was eight years old, she said: Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread. She took her little porringer: Of me she shall not win renown: For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her down. "Sisters and brothers, little Maid? There stands the Inspector at thy door: Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and two are four." "Kind words are more than coronets," She said, and wondering looked at me: "It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home to tea."

A Sea Dirge

THERE are certain things – as, a spider, a ghost, The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three – That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most Is a thing they call the Sea. Pour some salt water over the floor – Ugly I'm sure you'll allow it to be: Suppose it extended a mile or more, THAT'S very like the Sea. Beat a dog till it howls outright – Cruel, but all very well for a spree: Suppose that he did so day and night, THAT would be like the Sea. I had a vision of nursery-maids; Tens of thousands passed by me – All leading children with wooden spades, And this was by the Sea. Who invented those spades of wood? Who was it cut them out of the tree? None, I think, but an idiot could – Or one that loved the Sea. It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float With 'thoughts as boundless, and souls as free': But, suppose you are very unwell in the boat,