Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone

All But Blind In His Chambered Hole Gropes For Worms The Four-clawed Mole.

Dobbin At Manger Pulls His Hay: Gone Is Another Summer's Day.

For Beauty With Sorrow Is A Burden Hard To Be Borne: The Evening Light On The Foam, And The Swans, There; That Music, Remote, Forlorn.

Oh, Pity The Poor Glutton Whose Troubles All Begin In Struggling On And On To Turn What's Out Into What's In.

What A Haunting, Inescapable Riddle Life Was.