Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/140

 Before that I should have to go away And leave him for the season; and his eyes Had shone with well-becoming interest At that intelligence. There was no mist In them that I remember; but I marked An unmistakable self-questioning And a reticence of unassumed regret. The two together made anxiety— Not selfishness, I ventured. I should see No more of him for six or seven months, And I was there to tell him as I might What humorous provision we had made For keeping him locked up in Tilbury Town. That finished—with a few more commonplace Prosaics on the certified event Of my return to find him young again— I left him neither vexed, I thought, with us, Nor over much at odds with destiny. At any rate, save always for a look That I had seen too often to mistake Or to forget, he gave no other sign.

That train began to move; and as it moved, I felt a comfortable sudden change All over and inside. Partly it seemed As if the strings of me had all at once Gone down a tone or two; and even though It made me scowl to think so trivial A touch had owned the strength to tighten them, It made me laugh to think that I was free. But free from what—when I began to turn The question round—was more than I could say: I was no longer vexed with Killigrew, Nor more was I possessed with Captain Craig; But I was eased of some restraint, I thought,