Collected Poems
My dream this morning was a droll one too:
I dreamed that a sad man was in my room,
Sitting, as I do now, beside the bed.
I questioned him, but he made no reply,
Said not a word, but sang. " " Said not a word,
But sang, " the Captain echoed. " Very good.
Now tell me what it was the sad man sang. "
" Now that, " said Killigrew, constrainedly,
And with a laugh that might have been left out,
" Is why I know it must have been a dream.
But there he was, and I lay in the bed
Like you ; and I could see him just as well
As you see my right hand. And for the songs
He sang to me there ' s where the dream part comes. "
" You don ' t remember them? " the Captain said,
With a weary little chuckle; " very well,
I might have guessed it. Never mind your dream,
But let me go to sleep. " For a moment then
There was a frown on Killigrew ' s good face,
And then there was a smile. " Not quite, " said he;
" The songs that he sang first were sorrowful,
And they were stranger than the man himself
And he was very strange; but I found out,
Through all the gloom of him and of his music,
That a say, well, say mystic cheerfulness,
Pervaded him; for slowly, as he sang,
There came a change, and I began to know
The method of it all. Song after song
Was ended; and when I had listened there
For hours I mean for dream-hours hearing him,
And always glad that I was hearing him,
There came another change a great one. Tears
Rolled out at last like bullets from his eyes,
And I could hear them fall down on the floor