And the third little Goblin leered round at me—

    And there were no lids on his eyes at all—

    And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he,

    "What is the style of your socks this fall?"

    And he clapped his heels—and I sighed to see

    That he had hands where his feet should be.

    Then a bald-faced Goblin, gray and grim,

    Bowed his head, and I saw him slip

    His eyebrows off, as I looked at him,

    And paste them over his upper lip;

    And then he moaned in remorseful pain—

    "Would—Ah, would I'd me brows again!"

    And then the whole of the Goblin band

    Rocked on the fence-top to and fro,

    And clung, in a long row, hand in hand,

    Singing the songs that they used to know—

    Singing the songs that their grandsires sung

    In the goo-goo days of the Goblin-tongue.

    And ever they kept their green-glass eyes

    Fixed on me with a stony stare—

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