They do not come," he said;
"While I for want of them am weary,
They're elsewhere being read."
And even when the moon was low,
And the shrill winds a game did play,
Blowing the sign-boards to and fro,
As if 'twould blow them right away;
He'd with the spider, as it climbs,
Hold converse—asking if 'twould tell
Whether the postman dared to sell