Little Poems in Prose

of the vague but eternal charm of her boyish breast. Worn out perhaps, but not weary, and al- ways heroic, she makes one think of those splendid thoroughbreds which the eye of the true lover of horses can recognize even in the shafts of a cab or a dray. And then she is so sweet and fervent; she loves as one loves in autumn; one would say that the approach of winter kindles a new fire in her heart, and the servility of her tenderness has no element that might weary one therein.