And off that thought went winging.
And once again that thought returned,
With yet more brightness on it—
This time with the desire I burned
To weave it in a sonnet.
I'd get an artist chum to do
The subject in a rare cut.
Alas! before 'twas grasped it flew,
Alarmed by, "Git yer 'air cut!"
I strayed in silent solitude