Not with any design to conceal their 'glories,'
But simply and solely to rhyme with 'world.'
* * * * *
O if billows and pillows and hours and flowers,
And all the brave rhymes of an elder day,
Could be furled together, this genial weather,
And carted, or carried on 'wafts' away,
Nor ever again trotted out—ah me!
How much fewer volumes of verse there'd be!