what
beautiful
and winged
life,
whose egg
has been
buried for
ages under
many
concentric
layers of
woodenness
in the
dead dry
life of
society,
deposited
at first
in the
alburnum
of the
green and
living
tree,
which has
been
gradually
converted
into the
semblance
of its
well-seasoned
tomb-heard
perchance
gnawing
out now
for years
by the
astonished
family of
man, as
they sat
round the
festive
board –
may
unexpectedly
come forth
from
amidst
