And talk like a fool or a prim pedagogue;
To rudest relations I'd sometimes be pleasant—
But can't on account of the Fog!
I'd pay all those calls I so long have neglected,
And highest opinions deservedly earn;
And do proper things such as none e'er expected—
That borrowed umbrella at once I'd return.
I'd browse in a pasture of virtuous clover,
I cannot detail all the long catalogue
Of countless new leaves I would gladly turn over—