November,

As we saunter'd slowly Eastward, with the weed between

our lips;

How we spied a damsel beauteous, lymphomatically

duteous,

(I.E. cook at Number 7, scrubbing of the kitchen steps).

Charley, you and I remember, on that bright fifth of

November,

How she knelt there like a statue,—knelt bare-armëd

in the breeze,—