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PHANTASMAGORIA.
57
"The ghost's not grave," I said, "but gay;
Not solemn, but convivial:
I'm 'out of spirits' you should say,
Not 'out of sorts'—" he turned away,
Thinking the answer trivial.
For years I've not been visited
By any kind of Sprite;
Yet still they echo in my head,
Those parting words, so kindly said,
"Old Turnip-top, good-night!"
