Classic Poem

" 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 cull 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!

" Ah, Printerman, you're straying
Afar from " stick" and type —
Your heart has " gone a-maying,"
And you taste old kisses, ripe
Again on lips that pucker
At your old asthmatic pipe!

" You are dreaming of old pleasures
That have faded from your view;
And the music-burdened measures
Of the laughs you listen to
Are now but angel-echoes —
O, have I spoken true? "

The ancient Printer hinted
With a motion full of grace
To where the words were printed
On a card above his " case, " —
" I am deaf and dumb! " I left him
With a smile upon his face.