A blossom--a curl,
The heart of a woman who married an Earl.
"Ambitions and fears,
Gay laughter and tears,
Dead sorrows, dead pleasures of long perished years.
"Ah, folly to sigh
For passions that die,
Sir Poet, 'tis best to let sleeping dogs lie."
"I suppose," said Eustace to his friend, "that as we are here we may as well see something of the place."
"But we have seen a lot," objected Angus, removing his post-prandial cigarette.