THE BALLAD OF ONE-EYED MIKE
Till it paled away to an absinthe gray, and the
river seemed to shrink, All wobbly flakes and wriggling snakes and goblin
eyes a-wink.
'Twas weird to see and itf wildered me in a queer,
hypnotic dream, Till I saw a spot like an inky blot come floating
down the stream; It  bobbed and swung;   it sheered and hung;   it
romped round in a ring; It seemed to play in a tricksome way; it sure was
a merry thing.
In freakish flights strange oily lights came fluttering
round its head, Like butterflies of a monster size—then I knew it
for the Dead. Its face was rubbed and slicked and scrubbed as
smooth as a shaven pate; In the silver snakes that the water makes it gleamed
like a dinner-plate.
It gurgled near, and clear and clear and large and
large it grew; It stood upright in a ring of light and it looked me
through and through.
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