Which yet the whole land shall illume!
VIII.
She's "some pumpkins"—though now she looks sober—
She's brilliant; she is "no small beer."
No, no, Cinderella, my dear!
Your envious "sisters" may jeer,
And sit on you yet, for a year;
Redtape your advancement may fear,
And Monopoly's patrons look queer;
But, as sure as the month of October