“Ah! now I can understand why he had such an intense longing,” said the Yard Dog. “Why, there’s a shovel for cleaning out the stove-rake in his body, and that’s what moved within him. Now he has got over that, too. Away, away!”
And soon they had got over the winter.
“Away! away!” barked the hoarse Yard Dog. And nobody thought any more of the Snow Man.
THE HAPPY PRINCE
Oscar Wilde
High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt. He was very much admired, indeed.
“He is as beautiful as a weathercock,” remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic taste. “Only not quite so useful,” he added, fearing lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.
“Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?” asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon.