Dexery-tethery! down in the dike, br Under the ooze and the slime, br Nestles the wraith of a reticent Gryke, br Blubbering bubbles of rhyme: br Though the reeds touch him and tickle his teeth-- br Though the Graigroll and the Cheest br Pluck at the leaves of his laureate-wreath, br Nothing affects him the least. br br He sinks to the dregs in the dead o' the night, br And he shuffles the shadows about br As he gathers the stars in a nest of delight br And sets there and hatches them out: br The Zhederrill peers from his watery mine br In scorn with the Will-o'-the-wisp, br As he twinkles his eyes in a whisper of shine br That ends in a luminous lisp. br br The Morning is born like a baby of gold, br And it lies in a spasm of pink, br And rallies the Cheest for the horrible cold br He has dragged to the willowy brink, br The Gryke blots his tears with a scrap of his grief, br And growls at the wary Graigroll br As he twunkers a tune on a Tiljicum leaf br And hums like a telegraph pole.