A Barren "Idealty."

This song that I sing--         It is not of a spring,     Nor yet of a silvery stream--         But of a vision bright         Which came last night     In the garb of a blissful dream--         When I thought, as I lay,         It was Thanksgiving Day,     And I was invited to dine         Where a table stood         On which everything good     Spread a feast that was almost divine!         Where the savors arose,         Right under my nose,     From turkey--and pumpkin pies;         And from jolly roast pig         Were slices as big     As some of the campaign lies!         And celery so white         'Twas a thing of delight     To bite the crisp stalks in two.         And the cranberry sauce--         Oh, I tell you 'twas boss--     And flanked by an oyster stew!         Where the bread and the cake--         The best they can bake--     Were cut into slices heroic.         And the amber ice cream         Melted into my dream     Like love to the heart of a 'poet';         And they heaped up my plate,         And I sat there and ate     Till I awoke with a yell,         And a shiver and shake         And a pain and an ache     That rudely my dream did dispel!         But dreams, as you know,         By contraries go,     And thus I fear if it will be         With the one of delight         That came last night     When I feasted so heartily;         And Thanksgiving Day         In the usual way     Will come to me, don't you see,         And the dinner I had         And the ache that was bad     Prove a----barren "idealty"!