“... happy love!
Forever warm, and still to be enjoyed,
Forever panting and forever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloyed,
A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.”
“Hello, Gorgas,” Morris blundered upon her. “What are you mumbling? Poetry? Sounded like something with jiggles in it. Are you warm enough out here? I’ve got the shivers. C-come on b-back in the ‘smitty.’ We can t-talk better there. C-come on.”
“Wait. Please!” she begged. “Let’s don’t go back just yet. The—uh—everything’s so wonderful and springy out here. Don’t let’s talk just yet. Just listen to the sparrows.”
“Ug-g-g!” he shivered. “W-w-onderful l-l-ittl-le p-p-pests. How do you s-s-tand it? Without your c-coat, too. I’m g-going in.”
He danced a clog and flapped his arms, while he sang: