[Solar-OpenOffice] {Spam?} E and bladed wheat That springs triumphant in the fu

[Pickel]

 shall pay me down. Also the day I give you ease Of golden guineas you
pay a hundred." Laughing I left the Wise Man's door. Has he found such
things where a Changeling sits? The home is darkened from roof to floor,
The house is naked and ravaged and plundered Where a Changling sits On
the hearthstone, warming his shivering fits. He sits at his ease, for he
knows well He can keep his post. He has left me nothing to pay the cost
Of snatching my heart from his private Hell. Yet when all is done and
told I am glad the Wise Man in the City Had no pity For me, and for him
I had no gold. Because if I did not remember him, My little child--Ah!
What should we have, He and I? Not even a grave With a name of his own
by the river's brim. Because if among the poppies gay, On the hill-side,
now my eyes are dim, I could not fancy a child at play, And if I should
pass by the pool in the quarry And never see him, a darling ghost,
Sailing a boat there, I should be sorry-- If in the firelit, lone
December I never heard him come scampering post Haste down the stair--if
the soul that is lost Came back, and I did not remember. THE POETRY
SOCIETY The objects of the Society, as stated in the Constitution, are
to promote (in the words of Matthew Arnold, adopted as a motto), "a
clearer, deeper sense of the best in poetry and of the strength an
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