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The Height of Disagreeableness

A window rattling in the night
When I am fain for sleep
Gives me, I own, a sort of fright,
And makes my flesh to creep.

A discord jars my very soul;
A peach-skin makes me feel
As low within the depths of dole
As a dentist’s emery wheel.

The brakes upon a Broadway car;
A cat; a crying child;
The filing of a saw—these are
Some things that drive me wild.

But of all creepy things accursed,
Of various kinds and brands,
I hold this as the very worst:
A barber with cold hands.

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