III
What's that, who's that comes breaking on my sleep
With groans? What, father, you? (The very look,
The same smudged foolish face like an old sheep
Even after twenty years scarcely mistook.)
Speak, Father, speak; that night what came to you
Vanished in wrath or terror? Tell the tale;
Your beer left still in mug, your half-made shoe
On last, your turnip ticking on its nail!
"Son, it was Death. I have not stirred a foot