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Now sinks to sleep the clamour of the day, And, million-footed, from the Milky Way, Falls shyly on my heart the world's lost Thought Shower of primrose dust the stars have taught To haunt each sleeping mind, Till it may find A garden in some eager, passionate brain That, rich in loving-kindness as in pain, Shall harvest it, then scatter forth again It's garnered loveliness from heaven caught.
In the security of a private letter it was not necessary for him to spare words, and Churchill spoke his mind forcibly about the manner in which Jimmy Grayson was pandering to the "common people," the "ignorant mob," the "million-footed."
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