Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/177

 But spoke no further word that afternoon. He put away the paper, closed his eyes, And went to sleep with his lips flickering; And after that we left him. At midnight Plunket and I looked in; but he still slept, And everything was going as it should. The watchman yawned, rattled his newspaper, And wondered what it was that ailed his lamp. Next day we found the Captain wide awake, Propped up, and searching dimly with a spoon Through another dreary dish of chicken-broth, Which he raised up to me, at my approach, So fervently and so unconsciously, That one could only laugh. He looked again At each of us, and as he looked he frowned; And there was something in that frown of his That none of us had ever seen before. "Kind friends," he said, "be sure that I rejoice To know that you have come to visit me; Be sure I speak with undisguised words And earnest, when I say that I rejoice." "But what the devil!" whispered Killigrew. I kicked him, for I thought I understood. The old man's eyes had glimmered wearily At first, but now they glittered like to those Of a glad fish. "Beyond a doubt," said he, "My dream this morning was more singular Than any other I have ever known. Give me that I might live ten thousand years, And all those years do nothing but have dreams, I doubt me much if any one of them Could be so quaint or so fantastical, So pregnant, as a dream of mine this morning. You may not think it any more than odd;