They had an ancient goose,—it was an heirloom
From some remoter tailor of our race.
It happen’d I did see it on a time
When none was near, and I did deal with it,
And it did burn me,—oh, most fearfully!
“It is a joy to straighten out one’s limbs,
And leap elastic from the level counter,
Leaving the petty grievances of earth,
The breaking thread, the din of clashing shears,
And all the needles that do wound the spirit,