THE SPIRIT.

‘ T is whiter than an Indian pipe,

‘ T is dimmer than a lace;

No stature has it, like a fog,

When you approach the place.

Not any voice denotes it here,

Or intimates it there;

A spirit, how doth it accost?

What customs hath the air?

This limitless hyperbole

Each one of us shall be;

‘ T is drama, if ( hypothesis )

It be not tragedy!