The jealous Moor and melancholy Dane.
’Round its orbed haze and through its mazy ringlets
Titania may have led her elfin rout,
Or Ariel fanned it with his gauzy winglets,
Or Puck danced in the bowl to put it out.
Vain are all fancies—questions bring no answer;
The smokers vanish, but the pipe remains;
He were indeed a subtle necromancer
Could read their records in its cloudy stains.
Nor this alone: its destiny may doom it