Of troubles know I none, Of pleasures know I many — I rove beneath the sun Without a single penny. - Eleanor Farjeon

Romance gathers round an old story like lichen on an old branch. And the story of Martin Pippin in the Apple Orchard is so old now — some say a year old, some say even two. How can the children be expected to remember?

Bugsby's reach is long as time, His reach is wide as wind is, He can pick you nettles in Greenwich Marsh And docks in the East Indies.

Women are so strangely constructed that they have in them darkness as well as light, though it be but a little curtain hung across the sun. And love is the hand that takes the curtain down, a stronger hand than fear, which hung it up. For all the ill that is in us comes from fear, and all the good from love.