Take your Dora by the hand,
Your little Dora, grown so large.
By another she was manned,
But she is now your loving charge.
Mercy marries you, my boy,
And mercy—oh, it is unjust.
But it was born of truth and joy,
And lives with misery if it must.
Darius, and then Daniel, comprehending,
Stared at a hundred dancers who did not.