"Stop a minute," interrupted John. "Apropos of 'stealing night,' the sun is already down below the yew-hedge. Are you cold?"
"Not a bit of it."
"Then we'll begin:—
'Thrice, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state:
When courts are happiness, unhappy pawns!'
That's not clear," said John, laying down the book. "Now I do like poetry to be intelligible. A poet ought to see things more widely, and express them more vividly, than ordinary folk."
"Don't you perceive—he means the pawns on the chess-board—the common people."
"Phineas, don't say the common people—I'm a common person myself. But to continue:—
'His cottage low, and safely humble gate,
Shuts out proud Fortune, with her scorns and fawns:
No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep.
Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep,
Himself as innocent as are his quiet sheep.'
(Not many sheep at Enderley, I fancy; the Flat chiefly abounds in donkeys. Well—)
'No Serian worms he knows, that with their thread,
Drew out their silken lives—nor silken pride—'