The fringe of the fast flowing foam,
And their hungry, hysterical owner
Went hopelessly home.
Judy. June, 16, 1880.
——:o:——
The Mad, Mad Muse.
Out on the margin of moonshine land,
Tickle me, love, in these lonesome ribs,
Out where the whing-whang loves to stand,
Writing his name with his tail on the sand,