this foul root of me, praised be right cheek Discipline! And I don’t mean maybe. Nor yet through starland that silver sash. What era’s o’ering? Lang gong late. Say long, scielo ! Sillume, see lo! Selene, sail O! Amune! Ark!? Noh?! Nought stirs in spinney. The swayful pathways of the more hopeful O Mar- gareenaJ O MargareenaJ Still in a lovely morning, after the dead And shall Nohomiah be our place like? Yea, Mulachy our kingable khan? We shall perhaps not so soon either shall the first old wugger of himself for the occasion and this