Dear Mr Bowles.
Victory comes late,
And is held low to freezing lips
Too rapt with frost
To mind it!
How sweet it would have tasted!
Just a drop!
Was God so economical?
His table's spread too high
Except we dine on tiptoe!
Crumbs fit such little mouths -
Cherries - suit Robins -
The Eagle's golden breakfast - dazzles them!
God keep his vow to "Sparrows"
Who of little love -
Know how to starve!
Emily.