XLI.

I breathed enough to learn the trick, And now, removed from air, I simulate the breath so well, That one, to be quite sure

The lungs are stirless, must descend Among the cunning cells, And touch the pantomime himself. How cool the bellows feels!

I wonder if the sepulchre Is not a lonesome way, When men and boys, and larks and June Go down the fields to hay!