Hallucinations by Max A.

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There's a chap who told a story
   In the case of G.H. Druce;
'Twas a strange phantasmagory,
   Most perplexing and profuse.
Now, the doctors so sarcastic,
   Who have suffered him with patience,
Say he suffers from Fantastic

There are lots of men amid us,
   Men with tongues of gold -- or brass --
Who with oratory "kid" us
   While the spell-bound minutes pass.
Do they think, those men bombastic,
   As they spout their perorations,
That they suffer from Fantastic

Here and there you'll find a Chappie
   With a beauteous, classic face,
Who is always very happy
   When a Girl is near the place.
"She adores my Features Plastic" --
   So run his meditations;
He, too, has got Fantastic

'Mid the labour politicians
   There are many who believe
They're Society's physicians --
   Panaceas up their sleeve;
So they preach iconoclastic
   Doctrines unto all the nations,
Which are merely most Fantastic

Melbourne town has streets so dusty
   That they choke your breathing-spout:
And its Councillors too fusty
   Never wipe the nuisance out.
And that Tar and Sand make 'pastic
   To endure for generations
Is one of their Fantastic

So, you see, the Caldwell fellow
   Isn't quite the only butt
Whose brains are over-mellow,
   Who has jim-jams in his nut.
It stretches like elastic,
   This long line of queer creations,
Who are suffering from Fantastic

First published in Melbourne Punch, 20 February 1908

Author reference site: Austlit

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on February 20, 2012 7:22 AM.

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