For lo! at length the circling months went round:
The period was accomplished—and one day
This tattered, brown old greasy coverture
(Time had endeared its vileness) was transferred
To the possession of a wandering son
Of Israel’s fated race—and friends once more
Greeted my digits with the wonted squeeze:
Once more I went my way, along, along,
And plucked no wondering gaze; the hand of scorn
With its annoying finger, men, and dogs,