Yet, oh, it makes me writhe like one who sits him down on tin tacks
To note that happy ghost's contempt for grammar and for syntax.
Well, well, I called on Stead, you know; a doctor's talk of diet is,
And Stead's was of his psychic food as cure for my anxieties.
I thought I'd take a chair to sit (it looked to me quite common) on,
"You can't sit there," observed the Sage; "that's merely a phenomenon."
Two ladies, as I entered, seemed expressing of their gratitudes
For help received to Mr. Stead in sentimental attitudes;
They saw me, pirouetted twice, then vanished with a high kick.
"It's nothing," said the Editor; "they are not real, but psychic."