When Art Goes Bounding, Lean, Up Hill-Tops Fired Green To Pluck A Rose For Life. Life Like A Broody Hen Cluck-Clucks Him Back Again. But When Art, Imbecile, Sits Old And Chill On Sidings Shaven Clean, And Counts His Clustering Dead Daisies On A String With Witless Laughter.... Then Like A New Jill Toiling Up A Hill Life Scrambles After.