O thou whose face hath felt the Winter's wind,
Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist
And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars,
To thee the spring will be a harvest-time.
O thou, whose only book has been the light
Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on
Night after night when Phoebus was away,
To thee the Spring shall be a triple morn.
O fret not after knowledge -- I have none,
And yet my song comes native with the warmth.
O fret not after knowledge -- I have none,
And yet the Evening listens. He who saddens
At thought of idleness cannot be idle,
And he's awake who thinks himself asleep.
– John Keats, Lines from a Letter to John Hamilton Reynolds
Yes, but what the song sparrow said, and continues to say, “Monsieur, pleased to meet you, I’m sure. Monsieur, pleased to meet you I’m sure, Monsieur… ” ad infinitum; the song sparrow has nothing to say to women or children and reminds me of the hen, that hen of Dorothy Parker’s that laid eggs for gentlemen, for gentlemen exclusively, and the proletariat could all go hang!