An Hour's Terror Is Better Than A

Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone Is Another Summer's Day.

All But Blind In His Chambered Hole Gropes For Worms The Four-clawed Mole.

The Sandy Cat By The Farmer's Chair Mews At His Knee For Dainty Fare; Old Rover In His Moss-greened House Mumbles A Bone, And Barks At A Mouse. In The Dewy Fields The Cattle Lie Chewing The Cud 'neath A Fading Sky; Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone Is Another Summer's Day.

For Beauty With Sorrow Is A Burden Hard To Be Borne: The Evening Light On The Foam, And The Swans, There; That Music, Remote, Forlorn.

An Hour's Terror Is Better Than A Lifetime Of Timidity.