It cannot be cheerful or healthy or dry.
Why don't you go inland and rent a snug house,
With fowls in the garden and blossoming boughs,
Old woman, old woman, old woman?" said I.
"A garden have I at my hand
Beneath the green swell,
With pathways of glimmering sand
And borders of shell.
There twinkle the star-fish and there
Red jellies unfold;