And Mother Superior, I make no doubt,
Will teach her scores of neatly turned devotions
Couched in diminutives and pastoral terms,
(Lord, how I hate the literary prayer),
Little white lambs indeed—O baa baa black sheep
Have you any wool?—And Rachel in return
Flushing with shame impetuously confesses,
And holds half back, but crafty eyes are watching
To drag all out, so Rachel has to tell
How on the river bank one morning early