“The words, sir?” cried a creature
Hovering mid the shine and shade as ’twixt the live world and the
tomb;
But the well-known numbers needed not for me a text or teacher
To revive and re-illume.
X
Then the play . . . But how unfitted
Was _this_ Rosalind!—a mammet quite to me, in memories nurst,
And with chilling disappointment soon I sought the street I had
quitted,
To re-ponder on the first.