Slouch-hatted villains of transpontine plays,
All belt and bucket boots—
So shape chased shape (as swiftly as, when knocks
Of angry tradesmen bluster at the door,
Turgid with envelopes my letter box
Boils over on the floor).
Till fancy, running riot in my brain,
Elbowed the PAST from out the PRESENT'S way;
And opened in my dream, distinct and plain,
A vision of to-day.