And "Nus" was an inexhaustible pump
With an everlasting "sucker."
Yet, laugh if we will at those baby-days,
There was more of bliss in its careless plays,
Than in after time from the careful ways
Or the hollow world, with its empty praise,
Its honey'd speeches, and hackney'd phrase,
And its pleasures, for ever fleeting,—
And more of sense in its bald little pate,
On its own little matters of Church and State,