When Art goes bounding, lean, br Up hill-tops fired green br To pluck a rose for life. br br Life like a broody hen br Cluck-clucks him back again. br br But when Art, imbecile, br Sits old and chill br On sidings shaven clean, br And counts his clustering br Dead daisies on a string br With witless laughter…. br br Then like a new Jill br Toiling up a hill br Life scrambles after.