"And yet he wrote all that about coming to these yellow sands and then holding hands! But he can't really be better than Tennyson. He never wrote those lines about hollyhocks. Do you remember? Like this:
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,
Heavily hangs the tiger-lily!
Those are the beautifullest lines all over anywhere!"
"A bit of a tongue twister, eh? Makes you pronounce all your aitches like "hammer hammer hammer on the hard high road!" Harry blasphemed, twinkling.
"Oh don't, don't!" exclaimed Philip, a catch of pain in his voice.
"Anyhow there isn't any philoserphy in those lines! And you don't know what hollyhocks are? How can you like the lines? It's swank!"
"I don't know! It might be because I don't know, I like the lines. But I do know it's a flower; and when I see the real flower I'll be glad to see it. But it's got nothing to do with the poetry. That's just by itself:
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,
Heavily hangs the tiger-lily!"
"Never mind, never mind!" said Harry sapiently, "you'll grow older some day!"
"I wonder!" mused Philip. "But look here, what's the time? Crutches! Half-past eight! Got to be in bed at nine! So-long, Mr. Philoserphy!"