His tail all out of curl.
He smoked my favorite pipe,
He blew a cloud of smoke,
He pulled me out with his porcine snout,
And hugging him, I awoke.
"Why, Dick," cried the Senator, "what precious nonsense!"
"It was intended to be so," said Dick.
"Well, but you might as well put on an _idee_. It must have some meaning."
"Not a bit of it. It has no meaning; that is, no more than a dream or a nightmare."
The Senator now began to discuss the nature of poetry, but was suddenly interrupted by a shout--