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Show Miasma. j Bradford Era. "In the swatting ewlrl of the soughful wind, as the gust goes glooring by, I sit by the bole of a baneful borch, with a moan and a soulful sigh. The mellowing mists of the eve are low, and the frog in the dankful marsh chirps chirpingly sad in the ghoul-some ghoul-some gloom iu a swlvering voice and narsh: " 'Oh, where is the swin of the swoonful swish, And the voice of the flim-flam foul? Methinks it moans from the murkv mould. And the home of the hootf ul owl.1 "Now swivel me swift from the surging spring, I'm weary of wold and wind; the grewsome graik of the jobberwock comes jimtnering to my mind. The feeble song of the sportsome frog comes solemnwise, soughing slow, and again I hear by the bournful birch the wail of his wimpled woe: " 'Oh, where is the swing of the swoonful swish. From the land of the sprinrful sprole? Must the blue mists blur on the drinkful drale, And freight with their frought my soul?' "I dre amed I dreamed of Amelle Rives, in the dim of the dsnksome dark, and me-thought me-thought I rode on a moonful main in tha prow of a pullful bark. I -wrought a rhyme as I roamed along, jn the stream of the star-fulgrote; star-fulgrote; I woke at dawn in the dimpled day, and above is the rhyme I wrote. |