56
Soup is on table for a notable divine,
Who with no table is not able to sit down and dine.
57
Sweet as the rose and cruel as its thorn,
Eros thy power is great, thy pity scorn.
Swift as the roes that through the forest fly,
Deep as the ores that deepest hidden lie,
Is thine own sore to hapless mortals given,
Semblance of darkest hell or brightest heaven.
58
The missing words, dedicated to the Fresh Air Fund, read thus:—
GOOD TIMES FOR CITY MITES