Jug. (To Haines, who is looking at Poe) Mind your play there, Haines.
Poe. I know this place. It is the poet’s house of dream that all my life I ’ve sought to reach. I am dying now, and they let me in, because I have been true to them. The master will read it in my face. I have not eaten of the flesh-pots! I have beggared my body, but I have not beggared my soul!
Sharp. Curse it, Juggers! It ’s yours again!
Haines. Take your medicine, Sharp. A man must know how to lose as well as win.
Poe. Yonder is the master, arrayed all in white and gold and sapphire. Those angels that attend him are poets wrapped in fires of love. They talk about me now, and ask if I am worthy to come in. O, I have loved ye well, immortal dead! Through noons that burnt the world I ’ve tracked your dewy shadows! No day died in my eyes but ye were whispering priests! And midnight stars have learned your names of me!
Sharp. (Throwing down cards) It ’s that hoodoo in the corner!
Poe. How wonderful their voices! They speak a strange language, but I can interpret it.
Sharp. I ’ll not play another card until he goes!
Poe. He says that by the trembling of the planet-lights an earth-soul come this way. He sees me!
Black. Well, by Jacks, I ’ve got a dollar for his supper and bed.