It would be better, were we done with them.
But we, poor girls, too trusting natures have.
Weak parasites at best, each tall stout man
Seems just the thing that we should cling about.
But, dear, I think that half these trunks give way:—
The wonder is we dare to cling at all!”
“But Haydn,” said I, “Haydn”—
“As for him,”
She sigh’d, “may be he is not trustless all;
Yet if he be, or be not, how know you