PANDEMONIUM

“Now it is turning into words again— faint but clear— Lest the awe should dwell— And turn your frolic to fret— You shall look on my power at the helping hour— But then you shall forget! Now the reeds take it up— forget, forget, they sigh, and it dies away in a rustle and a whisper… Lest limbs be reddened and rent— I spring the trap that is set— As I loose the snare you may glimpse me there— For surely you shall forget! …Helper and healer, I cheer— Small waifs in the woodland wet— Strays I find in it, wounds I bind in it— Bidding them all forget!”        —The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame