COLLECTED POEMS
The weed had snapped off just above the root.
Not warning him, and I was left alone.
The bubbles rose, and I laughed heartily
To think of him; I laughed when I woke up;
And when my soup came in I laughed again;
I think I may have laughed a little no?
Not when you came ? . . . Why do you look like that?
You don't believe me ? Crocodiles why not ?
Who knows what he has eaten in his life?
Who knows but I have eaten Atropos? . . .
'Briar and oak for a soldier's crown/ you say?
Provence? Oh, no ... Had I been Socrates,
Count Pretzel would have been the King of Spain."
Now of all casual things we might have said
To make the matter smooth at such a time,
There may have been a few that we had found
Sufficient. Recollection fails, however,
To say that we said anything. We looked.
Had he been Carmichael, we might have stood
Like faithful hypocrites and laughed at him;
But the Captain was not Carmichael at all,
For the Captain had no frogs : he had the sun.
So there we waited, hungry for the word,
Tormented, unsophisticated, stretched
Till, with a drawl, to save us, Killigrew
Good-humoredly spoke out. The Captain fixed
His eyes on him with some severity.
"That was a funny dream, beyond a doubt,"
Said Killigrew ; "too funny to be laughed at ;
Too humorous, we mean." "Too humorous?"
The Captain answered; "I approve of that.
Proceed." We were not glad for Killigrew.
"Well," he went on, " 't was only this. You see
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