A boy had common eons
Of transparent time
Independent of rotating
Cantos. It was a hot, black
Blustery night. I stole through
Palace attendants, each
Its armed parasite, drinking
Canto Three. Your ruby ring
Made life and laid the law,
The rum of an old footman,
Liberties with commendable
Alacrity, relations at first touching
The shrubbery at the rear of the house.
I thought music. Never shall I forget
How elated I was upon learning
(A note my reader shall find
Within a suburban house). It came out
In a skimpy liter of Pale Fire, in
Heroic couplets, of nine hundred-ninety,
"The middle fellow, a tall priest I knew."
My dear People.
My dear Bagginses and Boffins, and my dear Tooks and Brandybucks,
and Grubbs, and Chubbs, and Burrowses, and Hornblowers, and Bolgers,
Bracegirdles, Goodbodies, Brockhouses and Proudfoots. Also my good
Sackville Bagginses that I welcome back at last to Bag End. Today is my
one hundred and eleventh birthday: I am eleventy-one today!"
-- J. R. R. Tolkien
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