He comprehends all kinds of human feeling.
The records of the stars he knows, and each
Romance that round about the heavens lingers.
At dinner-time he oft delights to preach
On which was made the first, or forks or fingers.
Indeed, all things he knows, or high or low—
The things that fly on wing, or go a-walking—
Except one thing he never seems to know,
And that’s when he should stop his endless talking.