I had waded far out in a drizzling dream, And my fancies had spattered my eyes With a vision of dread, With a number ten head, And a form of diminutive size-- That wavered and wagged in a singular way As he wound himself up and proceeded to say,-- "I have trimmed all my corns with the blade of the moon; I have picked every tooth with a star: And I thrill to recall That I went through it all Like a tune through a tickled guitar. I have ripped up the rainbow and raveled the ends When the sun and myself were particular friends." And pausing again, and producing a sponge And wiping the tears from his eyes, He sank in a chair With a technical air That he struggled in vain to disguise,-- For a sigh that he breathed, as I over him leant, Was haunted and hot with a peppermint scent. "Alas!" he continued in quavering tones As a pang rippled over his face, "The life was too fast For the pleasure to last In my very unfortunate case; And I'm going"--he said as he turned to adjust A fuse in his bosom,--"I'm going to--BUST!" I shrieked and awoke with the sullen che-boom Of a five-pounder filling my ears; And a roseate bloom Of a light in the room I saw through the mist of my tears,-- But my guest of the night never saw the display, He had fuzzled and fazzled and fizzled away! A NEW YEAR'S PLAINT In words like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold; But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more. --TENNYSON. The bells that lift their yawning throats And lolling tongues with wrangling cries Flung up in harsh, discordant notes, As though in anger, at the skies,-- Are filled with echoings replete, With purest tinkles of delight-- So I would have a something sweet Ring in the song I sing to-night. As when a blotch of ugly guise On some poor artist's naked floor Becomes a picture in his eyes, And he forgets that he is poor,-- So I look out upon the night, That ushers in the dawning year, And in a vacant blur of light I see these fantasies appear. I see a home whose windows gleam Like facets of a mighty gem That some poor king's distorted dream Has fastened in his diadem. And I behold a throng that reels In revelry of dance and mirth, With hearts of love beneath their heels, And in their bosoms hearts of earth. O Luxury, as false and grand As in the mystic tales of old, When genii answered man's command, And built of nothing halls of gold! O Banquet, bright with pallid jets, And tropic blooms, and vases caught In palms of naked statuettes, Ye can not color as ye ought!