Who is so selfish as to live without one.
My second is a noble work of art,
Which brings together distant shores and lands;
Though neither feet it has, nor head, nor heart,
’Tis often furnished with a hundred hands.
My whole in youth or age, sickness or health,
In joy or sorrow, charms to life can give;
Without it, all in vain are hoards of wealth,
By it unblest in solitude we live.
218. What spice are the Hindoos fond of?