To Awakened all the maidens of the dale
Lawn
Drove Morpheus shrieking from the beds away
—from the maids and swains.
and so on. One is ashamed to repeat such rubbish. While I was reading it however, Sam Semple came running back.
"That paper is mine," he cried, with a very red face, snatching it out of my hands.
"Well—if it is yours, take it. What does it mean?"
"It's poetry, you fool."
"If you call me a fool, Sam, you'll get a black eye." He was three inches taller than myself as well as two years older—but this was the way all the boys spoke to him.
"You can't understand," he said, "none of you can understand. It's poetry, I tell you."