CANTO VII Sad Souvenaunce

“What’s this?” I pondered.  “Have I slept?

      Or can I have been drinking?”

But soon a gentler feeling crept

Upon me, and I sat and wept

      An hour or so, like winking.

“No need for Bones to hurry so!”

      I sobbed.  “In fact, I doubt

If it was worth his while to go—

And who is Tibbs, I’d like to know,

      To make such work about?

“If Tibbs is anything like me,

      It’s possible,” I said,

“He won’t be over-pleased to be

Dropped in upon at half-past three,

      After he’s snug in bed.

“And if Bones plagues him anyhow—

      Squeaking and all the rest of it,

As he was doing here just now—

I prophesy there’ll be a row,

      And Tibbs will have the best of it!”

Then, as my tears could never bring

      The friendly Phantom back,

It seemed to me the proper thing

To mix another glass, and sing

      The following Coronach.

And art thou gone, beloved Ghost?

      Best of Familiars!

Nay then, farewell, my duckling roast,

Farewell, farewell, my tea and toast,

      My meerschaum and cigars!

The hues of life are dull and gray,

      The sweets of life insipid,

When thou, my charmer, art away

Old Brick, or rather, let me say,

      Old Parallelepiped!’

Instead of singing Verse the Third,

      I ceased—abruptly, rather:

But, after such a splendid word

I felt that it would be absurd

      To try it any farther.

So with a yawn I went my way

      To seek the welcome downy,

And slept, and dreamed till break of day

Of Poltergeist and Fetch and Fay

      And Leprechaun and Brownie!

For years I’ve not been visited

      By any kind of Sprite;

Yet still they echo in my head,

Those parting words, so kindly said,

      “Old Turnip-top, good-night!”

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