At noon the
foul ogre cribbage stalks rampant, and seven-up for dim, distant oysters
that only the eye of faith can see.
The hour grows late. The clock strikes! Another day has vanished. Gone
into the dim recesses of the past, leaving its record of misspent hours,
false hopes, and disappointed expectations. May a morrow dawn that will
bring recompense and requital for the sorrows of the days gone by, and a
new order of things when there will be more starch in cuff and collar,
and less in handkerchiefs.
Come with me out into the starlight night. So calm, so serene, ye lights
of heaven, so high above earth; so pure and majestic and mysterious;
looking down on the mad struggle of life here below, is there no pity in
your never closing eyes for us mortals on which you shine?
Come with me on to the bridge. Ah, see there, far below, the dark,
turbid stream. Rushing and whirling and eddying under the dark pillars
with ghostly murmur and siren whisper. What shall we find in your
depths? The stars do not reflect themselves in your waters, they are
too dark and troubled and swift! What shall we find in your depths?
Rest?--Peace?--catfish? Who knows? 'Tis but a moment.
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