These hills for the city’s stifled air,
And big hotels and bustle and glare;—
Land all houses and roads all stones,
That deafen your ears and batter your bones!
Would you, old Bay?
Would you, old Gray?
That’s what one gets by going away.
“There Money is king,” says Farmer John,
“And Fashion is queen; and it’s very queer
To see how sometimes, while the man