Page:Captain Craig; a book of poems.djvu/91

Rh But the good Captain for a long time then Said nothing: he lay quiet—fast asleep, For all that we could see. We waited there Till each of us, I fancy, must have made The paper on the wall begin to squirm, And then got up to leave. My friends went out, And I was going, when the old man cried: "You leave me now—now it has come to this? What have I done to make you go? Come back! Come back!"

There was a quaver in his cry That we shall not forget—reproachful, kind, Indignant, piteous. It seemed as one Marooned on treacherous tide-feeding sand Were darkly calling over the still straits Between him and irrevocable shores Where now there was no lamp to fade for him, No call to give him answer. We were there Before him, but his eyes were not much turned On us; nor was it very much to us That he began to speak the broken words, The scattered words, that he had left in him.

"So it has come to this? And what is this? Death, do you call it? Death? And what is death?