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Rh But what I thought (what Killigrew still thinks) An irremediable cheerfulness Was in him and about the name of him, And I fancy that it may be most of all For the jokes he made that I have saved his letters. I like to think of him, and how he looked— Or should have looked—in his renewed estate, Composing them. They may be dreariness Unspeakable to you that never saw The Captain; but to five or six of us Who knew him they are not so bad as that. It may be we have smiled not always where The text itself would seem to indicate Responsive titillation on our part,— Yet having smiled at all we have done well, For we know that we have touched the ghost of him. He tells me that he thinks of nothing now That he would rather do than be himself, Wisely alive. So let us heed this man:—

"The world that has been old is young again, The touch that faltered clings; and this is May. So think of your decrepit pensioner As one who cherishes the living light, Forgetful of dead shadows. He may gloat, And he may not have power in his arms