Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/201

 Then back we steered through the foam again, But our thoughts were fast and few; And all we did was to crowd the surge And to measure the life we knew; — Till at last we came where a dancing gleam Skipped out to us, we three, And the dark wet mooring pointed home Like a finger from the sea. Then out we pushed the teetering skiff And in we drew to the stairs; And up we went, each man content With a life that fed no cares. Fingers were cold and feet were cold, And the tide was cold and rough ; But the light was warm, and the room was warm, And the world was good enough. And there were the pipes, and there was the punch, More shrewd than Satan's tears : Fingal had fashioned it, all by himself, With a craft that comes of years. And there we were together again Together again, we three: Morgan, Fingal, fiddle, and all, They were there for the night with me.

was coming, and therefore The children Jane, Sylvester, and Young George Were eyes and ears; for there was only one Aunt Imogen to them in the whole world,