"Of course it is!" answered my friend. "But listen; there is more:"

"But yesterday!...
O blooms of May,
And summer roses--Where-away?
O stars above;
And lips of love,
And all the honeyed sweets thereof!

"O lad and lass.
And orchard-pass,
And briared lane, and daisied grass!
O gleam and gloom,
And woodland bloom,
And breezy breaths of all perfume!--

"No more for me
Or mine shall be
Thy raptures--save in memory,--
No more--no more--
Till through the Door
Of Glory gleam the days of yore."

This was the evident conclusion of the remarkable utterance, and the
Professor was impetuously fluttering his hands about the subject's
upward-staring eyes, stroking his temples, and snapping his fingers in
his face.

"Well," said Sweeney, as he stood suddenly awakened, and grinning in