To
my youngest son
Grenville Arthur
and
to all other good little boys
Come read me my riddle, each good little man;
if you cannot read it, no grownup folk can.
“I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sat reclined;
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
“To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think,
What man has made of man.”
Wordsworth
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