And neigh or bray him—“Nevermore.”
3.
Yes, I’m like a dotless i,
And want and woe my wretched cry,
With stress of sad starvation,
Ah, me! it is a world of poor.
There’s not a little cur that barks,
Nor tiny birds, from wrens to larks,
Nor even skulking sheriff’s sharks,
Feel so sad, so sick and sore,