I've A Neater, Sweeter Maiden In A

Literature Is A Splendid Mistress, But A Bad Wife.

We Have Learned To Whittle The Eden Tree To The Shape Of A Surplice Peg, We Have Learned To Bottle Our Parents Twain In The Yelk Of An Addled Egg. We Know That The Tail Must Wag The Dog, For The Horse Is Drawn By The Cart, But The Devil Whoops, As He Whooped Of Old; It's Clever, But Is It Art?

The Wild Hawk To The Wind-swept Sky The Deer To The Wholesome Wold; And The Heart Of A Man To The Heart Of A Maid, As It Was In The Days Of Old.

Delight In The Little Things.

What Is The Moral? Who Rides May Read.