Parkways and Willows 



old Boreas had taken with the creator 

 of Hamlet and Macbeth. And, again, 

 one other day when weeping skies were 

 wrapping all the landscape round about 

 in mist and rain poor William was 

 again put to it hard to retain his grip 

 upon our self-restraint in his awesome 

 presence. He sits there in knee breech- 

 es in a "comfy" chair; his bronze silk 

 hose tied up with big bow-knots. Per- 

 haps I should have too much respect 

 for him who gave the world Othello 

 and King Lear to tell you that great 

 drops were falling from the Jovian 

 beak down his ruffled shirt-front into 

 the divine lap, attaining the dignity 

 of real rivulets by the time the toe of 

 the extended sacred foot was reached. 

 Even so, thought I, once flowed the 

 fountains of his genius, and then I 

 smiled again at the amusing picture of 

 a shower bath in dress clothes in a 

 public place. But come to think of it 

 why indeed should not the statue now 

 and then bring the laughter that 

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