While reposing one night on my pallet of straw—
Fancy Tommy "reposing"! Campbell, may I inform you that Thomas neither poses nor reposes, which suggests the soft, rounded limbs of a Grecian maiden on a bed of rose-leaves. Tommy likes his mouth open, and often prefers to lie on his stomach with his legs wide apart. Reposing! My hat! What an awful swank the man was with his knocking off work because of the night-cloud, and what with his reposing on a pallet of straw. Why he didn't go in for a convertible four-legged wheelbarrow bedstead puzzles me. Tommy lies on the "good 'ole dirt" if it's hot, and otherwise screws himself up into his blanket, head and all. I hear Graoul asking his pal, "O, Halgie, koindly porse erlong may pallet hof straarw hat wance."
"Roight yer hare! 'Ere, Toenails, pallit-er strore is forwerd—hand the quilt halso."
At the dead of night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again—
Kindly eliminate "dreamed" and substitute "saw," then re-read it. Don't laugh! Why shouldn't he "see" it the second and even the third time also? Tommy sees lots of things—at times.
I dreamed from the battlefield's dreadful array
Far, far, I had roamed on a desolate track.
It was springtime and summer arose on the way—
To the home of my fathers that welcomed me back—