Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,

A wingèd odour went away.

*  *  *  *  *

E. A. Poe.

——:o:——

Dream-Mere.

On a root, knobbed, gnarl’d, and lonely.

Overstruck with toadstools only,

Sits an Eidolon named Night,—

On a toadstool half upright.