A DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
113
How late it grows! Long since the hour is past
That should have warned us with its double knock;
The twilight wanes, and morning comes at last—
"Oh, Uncle! what's o'clock?"
The Uncle gravely nods, and wisely winks—
It may mean much; but how is one to know?
He opes his mouth—yet out of it, methinks,
No words of wisdom flow.
