Once on a Commission dreary sat DUNRAVEN, worn and weary.
Hearing many a snuffling Hebrew, many a Sweater's victim poor,
Oft he nodded, nearly dozing, but, on the Commission's closing,
Schemed out a Report, supposing that by such Report he'd score.
"Tone it down," his colleagues muttered; "like a sucking-dove let's roar,
Gently purr, and nothing more."
* * * * *
"Be those words our sign of parting!" cried DUNRAVEN, swift upstarting;
"Sweating's an accursed system, but if now our toil is o'er,
We leave twaddle as sole token of the swelling words we've spoken.
Public faith in us is broken! Bah! I quit, I "bust", boil o'er!
Take my seat, sign your Report, about such bosh my spirit bore?"
Quoth DUNRAVEN, "Nevermore!"
* * * * *