And the piled discs (like silver spoons) in it
That push and pull the tide,
And small sweet honey-moons to give a bride.

"This moon," he said, "you will remember well;
Its price is wealth untold;"
Took a camp-moon he vowed he stole for me
And softly wrapped to keep it whole for me.
I heaped his feet with gold;
He changed, and said the moon might not be sold.

Then I was angry that with moons to sell
He thought he had the right
To keep that one. Those who were lent to us
Had written the brief notes they sent to us
When it shone out at night.
I caught it to my heart and held it tight.

* * * * *

"Twenty Students Require clean, respectable Board-Residence; would
not object to Share Bed."--_Provincial Paper._

They should have lived in the days of Og, the King of Basan; his
bedstead _was_ a bedstead.

* * * * *

"Calcutta.