'Jimmy,' she said, still doubting, 'Come, my dear,
Let's have our "Binger," 'fore we go to bed,'
And then 'The parson's dog,' she cackled clear,
'Lep over stile,' she sang, nodding her head.
'His name was little Binger.' 'Jim,' she said,
'Binger, now, chorus' ... Jimmy kicked the hob,
The sacrament of song died in a sob.
Jimmy went out into the night to think
Under the moon so steady in the blue.
The woman's beauty ran in him like drink,