All day she worked, no lover lent
His aid; and yet with glee
At dusk she sought her home, content,
That beauteous Bumble Bee.
A cell it was, nor more nor less,
But oh! all’s one to me,
Whether you write it with an S,
Dear girl, or with a C.
* * * * *
Then doth Tuck-man smile, “Them there