Have made myself a grindstone, edging souls Meant most for flying: I, in piteous mouths, That yearned for sweetest manna, crammed rough stones And loathsome scorpions: children, youths, the light Of God brought newly down by love, Straining to shine on all the flowers of earth, Of heaven, of poetry, have I swathed up In noisome fog of the dead letter--I, Who dare aspire to be a child for ever. Intolerance in religion never dreamt Such fell machinery of Acts and Codes As now we use for nipping thought in bud, And turning children out like nine-pins, each As doleful and as wooden. Never more Shall I put hand to such inhuman work!" To come with this to me, who teach, and mean To start a boarding-school next year! Brown. By Jove! The net result of solitude. This world, This oyster with its valves of toil and play, Would round his corners for its own good ease, And make a pearl of him if he'd plunge in. Smith. Then you would change the diamonds into pearls, The rubies and the opals? Robinson. Very fair! Brown. Better a pure pearl than a damaged diamond. Jones. And in this matter we may all be pearls. Smith. Be worldlings, truly. I would rather be A shred of glass that sparkles in the sun, And keeps a lowly rainbow of its own, Than one of those so trim and patent pearls With hearts of sand veneered, sewed up and down The stiff brocade society affects. Robinson. Fair, very fair! Jones. Be quiet, parroquet! Are we such pearls? Smith. Pearls! This is what you are: The commonest type of biped crawling here. Take it thus crudely: you would not believe A subtle phrase in full, but think I meant Less than the words might bear, deeming me dull-- Barbarian you call me ... Brown. Who said that? Smith. The friends of gossips gossip, little Brown. Brown. The great Smith gossips too, then. Smith. What! You fool! You dare to bandy words with me! Begone! Get out of here the three of you! Jones. He's mad. Smith. You sots, you maggots, shavings, asteroids! A million of you wouldn't make a man! Out, or I'll strike you, monkeys, mannikins! [All go out; then re-enter Smith, followed by Topsy with salver, etc. Smith. You're looking fresh: You've had a holiday? Topsy. I've had my week. Smith. Where were you? Topsy. At the coast. Smith. Now, tell me, what of all you saw, remains? Topsy. Oh, well--there's many a thing! There's---- Ah! there's this! One morning early that I stood alone, And saw the green sea from a windy cliff, With small, white, curling waves, like shavings pinned Upon a watered silk. Smith. Oh! how was that? Topsy. There was a great Scotch lady long ago-- I read it in a penny paper there; That made me think of it; and she was poor,