Page:Carroll - Phantasmagoria and other poems (1869).djvu/203

Rh So, half in fancy's sunny trance,
 * And half in misery's aching void,

With set and stony countenance
 * His bitter being he enjoyed,

And thrust for ever from his mind The happiness he could not find.

As when the wretch, in lonely room,
 * To selfish death is madly hurled,

The glamour of that fatal fume
 * Shuts out the wholesome living world—

So all his manhood's strength and pride One sickly dream had swept aside

Yea, brother, and we passed him there,
 * But yesterday, in merry mood,

And marvelled at the lordly air
 * That shamed his beggar's attitude,

Nor heeded that ourselves might be Wretches as desperate as he;