“The moon’s at full—and I am in her thought—
No doubt; I do believe it in my soul!”
Here he threw up his head, and gave a snort
Like a young horse first harness’d to a pole:
“The moon is full—aye, so is this d—d bowl!”
And, grinning like the sourest of curmudgeons,
Globe—water—fishes—he dash’d down the whole,
Strewing the carpet with the gasping gudgeons;
Men do the strangest things in such love-dudgeons.
“I fill her thoughts—her memory’s vice-gerent?