Thus Ominous and Elliptical Be the Tone of This

Species sundry sentential Line the lost lowered loft Whose weary wayward-ceiled Roof raises itself over the lot: The diverse specimen bottles of pharmaceutic potations, Mortared and mixed as by the Hawthornean sawbones And apothecary, yclept, poetically rendered: "The Quack Haunted." (Aye,) Haunted and hunted he was, by that vile old crone, Whose life he did not decrease one iota nor span, With the ingested application of one of his odious elixirs, By the harridan so quaffed. Yet, the obstreperous host of the soldierly soldiery of dozens of nations, Yclept herein by the appellation, "Plagiarism," they fairly encroach upon The tableau naught but ominously. And thus ominous be also the tone of this, Which 'tis my most perfervid and prayerful hope that 'Tis utterly unclassifiable, unidentified and unidentifiable. I do not care for the onerousness of being pinned down, For living up to the hoary and draconian standards of the vast Collect of poetry-of poetries. This I will not brook. (But before I end this ebullient and elliptical encomium, I must turn once again to that species of alliterativeness that Provided the nutriment for it and me: the "grist for my mill," As the archaic idiom has it: ) Therefore, these things Have henceforth Come casually To their End.