Page:Carroll - Phantasmagoria and other poems (1869).djvu/57

Rh Who climbs till nerve and force be spent,
 * With many a puff and pant:

Who still, as rises the ascent, In language grows more violent,
 * Although in breath more scant:

Who, climbing, gains at length the place
 * That crowns the upward track;

And, entering with unsteady pace, Receives a buffet in the face
 * That lands him on his back:

And feels himself, like one in sleep,
 * Glide swiftly down again,

A helpless weight, from steep to steep, Till, with a headlong giddy sweep,
 * He pitch into the plain—