Not made on any esoteric plan,
And when he struck this sanctuary of art
Poor Jones felt quite unequal to his part.
Art maidens with short hair and naked toes
Deprived him of his hat. They wore old rose
And sang about their “little turtle dove”
And asked him if he’d “sow the seeds of love?”
(They were the Misses Browne). “I’ve come to call....”
“Then follow, to the house-place, sir,” they cried,
“And make you featly welcome. Ma’s inside.”