So was he kin of yours and mine—
So, even by the hallowed sign
Of silence which he listens to,
He hears our tears as falls the dew.
THE ANCIENT PRINTERMAN
O Printerman of sallow face,
And look of absent guile,
Is it the 'copy' on your 'case'
That causes you to smile?
Or is it some old treasure scrap
You call from Memory's file?
"I fain would guess its mystery—
For often I can trace
A fellow dreamer's history
Whene'er it haunts the face;
Your fancy's running riot
In a retrospective race!