Tell all the same relentless tale.
I’ve none to smile with, or make free
Or, when I want it, lend to me
Yet in my dreams a cheque I view,
That’s meant for me—a large one too.
I start, and when the vision’s flown,
I weep that all my money’s gone.
From The Lays of the Mocking Sprite. Cambridge. W. Metcalfe & Sons.
——:o:——
ODE,