To Galveston among the oleanders
Mrs. Alving comes with Pastor Manders.
So transported from its fogs and fjords
Can fate grip? Do they hold, the silver cords?
Male nurse around the clock; a handsome trust fund.
She is valiant. It will be a just fund.
Here, also, some justice is. A heat
By 8 A.M. enough to drive out quite
Whatever glides among the local headlines;
Eager fury, unaware of bloodlines,
Stegomyia all the night. Yet, too,
Such mercies as has fifty. “I and you,
Hélène; our coffee made with chicory;
Palmetto fans, in their poor mockery
Of breezes.”
“You and I, the Alving money;
Porch with, how to say, a Suck-the-?”
“Honey
suckle vine. Put out the lamp, Fru Captain,
And come to bed.” On shutters, swag, nets slept in,
The great mosquitoes light. But for the nonce
The furies wait; the lamp is in its sconce.
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