Cobwebs from a Library Corner - John Kendrick Bangs

Yet full of facetious, hilarious stuff—

Stuff past comprehension, stuff no man dares tell;

For nocturnal jests, e’en told ever so well—

’Tis odd it should be so—are not often bright,

Except to the dreamer who dreams them at night.

A leaf fell in love with the soft green lawn,

He deemed her the sweetest and best,

And then on a dreary November dawn

He withered and died on her breast.