Is it not an apostrophe to thee? What fiend was it yesterday moved my shuddering lips to quote that gentlest strophe over thy flattened corpusculum, meant, peradventure, for a kindlier spirit?—
"My sprightly neighbor! gone before
To that unknown and silent shore,
Shall we not meet as heretofore
Some summer morning?"
Such is the irony of revenge.
Dread Reminiscence! appalling Probability! disconcerting and inescapable Fact! thou art the Inscrutable, the Unattainable, the Never-Reached, I take it, of the metaphysical circle. In deference to thee, I salute the hem of a mosquito-net.
In the watches of the night, my soul shall rejoice to behold thy wrathful eye outside.
