First the teacher called the roll, Clos't to the beginnin', "Addeliney Bowersox!" Set the school a-grinnin'. Wintertime, and stingin'-cold When the session took up-- Cold as _we_ all looked at _her_, Though _she_ couldn't look up!
Total stranger to us, too-- Country-folks ain't allus Nigh so shameful unpolite As some people call us!-- But the honest facts is, _then_, Addeliney Bower- Sox's feelin's was so hurt She cried half an hour!
My dest was acrost from her 'n: Set and watched her tryin' To p'tend she didn't keer, And a kind o' dryin' Up her tears with smiles---tel I Thought, "Well, '_Addeliney Bowersox_' is plain, but _she's_ Purty as a piney!"
It's be'n many of a year Sence that most oncommon Cur'ous name o' _Bowersox_ Struck me so abomin- Nubble and outlandish-like!-- I changed it to Adde- Liney _Daubenspeck_--and _that_ Nearly killed her Daddy!
Get gone, thou most uncomfortable ghost! Thou really dost annoy me with thy thin Impalpable transparency of grin; And the vague, shadowy shape of thee almost Hath vext me beyond boundary and coast Of my broad patience. Stay thy chattering chin, And reel the tauntings of thy vain tongue in, Nor tempt me further with thy vaporish boast That I am _helpless_ to combat thee! Well, Have at thee, then! Yet if a doom most dire Thou wouldst escape, flee whilst thou canst!--Revile Me not, Miasmic Mist!--Rank Air! _retire_! One instant longer an thou haunt'st me, I'll _Inhale_ thee, O thou wraith despicable!
They faced each other: Topaz-brown And lambent burnt her eyes and shot Sharp flame at his of amethyst.-- "I hate you! Go, and be forgot As death forgets!" their glitter _hissed_ (So _seemed_ it) in their hatred. Ho! Dared any mortal front her so?-- Tempestuous eyebrows knitted down-- Tense nostril, mouth--no muscle slack,-- And black--the suffocating black-- The stifling blackness of her frown!
Ah! but the lifted face of her! And the twitched lip and tilted head! Yet he did neither wince nor stir,-- Only--his hands clenched; and, instead Of words, he answered with a stare That stammered not in aught it said, As might his voice if trusted there.
And what--what spake his steady gaze?-- Was there a look that harshly fell To scoff her?--or a syllable Of anger?--or the bitter phrase That myrrhs the honey of love's lips, Or curdles blood as poison drips? What made their breasts to heave and swell As billows under bows of ships In broken seas on stormy days? We may not know--nor _they_ indeed-- What mercy found them in their need.