Page:Potipharswifeoth00arnoiala.djvu/101

 "And yet again, that purple-winged hen-starling,

Hungry—I'll vouch it!

Flies with a fat grub to her nested darling,

Nor dreams to pouch it!

"She-mercy everywhere, she-pitying

In helpless season!

You Boston girls seem up to everything:

Tell me the reason."

"Why, certainly!" she smiled, "don't poets know

Better than others?

God can't be always everywhere: and, so,

Invented Mothers."