well, she would. She paused. Modesty and pride gathered on her cheeks,
tuned her voice low. She read:

"So you have tried--So you have known
The burning effort for success,
The quick belief in your own prowess and your skill,
The bitterness of failure, and the joy
Of sweet success."

"'Burning effort,'" George said. "That's fine!"

"I'm glad you like that. And 'quick belief'--you know what I mean?"

"Oh, rather."

The poet warmed again over her words.

"So you have tried--
So you have known
The blind-eyed groping towards the goal
That flickers on the far horizon of Attempt,
Gleaming to sudden vividness, anon
Fading from sight."

"Sort of blank verse, isn't it?" George asked.

"Well, sort of," the poet allowed. "Not exactly, of course."

"Of course not," George agreed firmly.