AND after Angelina, laying down The book — that is — she often thought it so; Had recognized, as one might say, a frown (Could she translate the answer Yes and No?) Had taken up the, as it were, effect Of, Angelina's training had been such That yet, however harsh and circumspect — Even her father deemed it overmuch — One does these things unconsciously, I think, Thus in proportion as we don't we do; So pausing rather vaguely on the brink She wondered, was it by, and if so, to? For Angelina Hale was not that kind Of girl, and it would be unfair to say With such an intuition in her mind As to these, those — does it matter either way? — Which she had, of a purpose, I suppose; And they do have so many ways to choose, A point which she remembered, last arose The day she left her arctic overshoes, And then, of course, that doesn't count for one Whose very instinct (is it wrong to try?) Since yes, what other, lesser souls have done, For which, with what, is oftenest done by. And thus reflecting, Angelina Hale Reviewed the thoughts that she had read about, Then with a smile triumphant, wan, and pale Sank back upon her pillows, quite fagged out. |