Mother asked Betty what the matter was with her.
Betty explained to her mother that she had a bad headache.Then she added that it hurt her to swallow.
Mother told Betty that she had a runny nose.The mother wanted to know when she had managed to get it.
Betty supposed that it had been cold at school the day before.
Mother asked Betty to take her temperature.
Betty told her mother that it was thirty-seven point nine.
Mother asked Betty to get into bed.Then she told Betty she would call the doctor.
Betty told her mother she wanted to drink something hot.Then she added she felt a bit seedy.
Mother told Betty she would give her a tablet for her headache and a glass of warm milk with honey.
Autumn: the year breathes dully towards its death,
beside its dying sacrificial fire;
the dim world's middle-age of vain desire
is strangely troubled, waiting for the breath
that speaks the winter's welcome malison
to fix it in the unremembering sleep:
the silent woods brood o'er an anxious deep,
and in the faded sorrow of the sun,
I see my dreams' dead colours, one by one,
forth-conjur'd from their smouldering palaces,
fade slowly with the sigh of the passing year.
They wander not nor wring their hands nor weep,
discrown'd belated dreams! but in the drear
and lingering world we sit among the trees
and bow our heads as they, with frozen mouth,
looking, in ashen reverie, towards the clear
sad splendour of the winter of the far south.
Mother asked Betty what the matter was with her.
Betty explained to her mother that she had a bad headache.Then she added that it hurt her to swallow.
Mother told Betty that she had a runny nose.The mother wanted to know when she had managed to get it.
Betty supposed that it had been cold at school the day before.
Mother asked Betty to take her temperature.
Betty told her mother that it was thirty-seven point nine.
Mother asked Betty to get into bed.Then she told Betty she would call the doctor.
Betty told her mother she wanted to drink something hot.Then she added she felt a bit seedy.
Mother told Betty she would give her a tablet for her headache and a glass of warm milk with honey.
Autumn: the year breathes dully towards its death,
beside its dying sacrificial fire;
the dim world's middle-age of vain desire
is strangely troubled, waiting for the breath
that speaks the winter's welcome malison
to fix it in the unremembering sleep:
the silent woods brood o'er an anxious deep,
and in the faded sorrow of the sun,
I see my dreams' dead colours, one by one,
forth-conjur'd from their smouldering palaces,
fade slowly with the sigh of the passing year.
They wander not nor wring their hands nor weep,
discrown'd belated dreams! but in the drear
and lingering world we sit among the trees
and bow our heads as they, with frozen mouth,
looking, in ashen reverie, towards the clear
sad splendour of the winter of the far south.