Phantasmagoria CANTO VII ( Sad Souvenaunce )

 "WHAT'S this?" I pondered.
 "Have I slept? 
Or can I have been drinking?" 
But soon a gentler feeling crept 
Upon me, and I sat and wept 
An hour or so, like winking.
 

"No need for Bones to hurry so!" 
I sobbed.
 "In fact, I doubt 
If it was worth his while to go - 
And who is Tibbs, I'd like to know, 
To make such work about? 

"If Tibbs is anything like me, 
It's POSSIBLE," I said, 
"He won't be over-pleased to be 
Dropped in upon at half-past three, 
After he's snug in bed.
 

"And if Bones plagues him anyhow - 
Squeaking and all the rest of it, 
As he was doing here just now - 
I prophesy there'll be a row, 
And Tibbs will have the best of it!" 

Then, as my tears could never bring 
The friendly Phantom back, 
It seemed to me the proper thing 
To mix another glass, and sing 
The following Coronach.
 

'AND ART THOU GONE, BELOVED GHOST? 
BEST OF FAMILIARS! 
NAY THEN, FAREWELL, MY DUCKLING ROAST, 
FAREWELL, FAREWELL, MY TEA AND TOAST, 
MY MEERSCHAUM AND CIGARS! 

THE HUES OF LIFE ARE DULL AND GRAY, 
THE SWEETS OF LIFE INSIPID, 
WHEN thou, MY CHARMER, ART AWAY - 
OLD BRICK, OR RATHER, LET ME SAY, 
OLD PARALLELEPIPED!' 

Instead of singing Verse the Third, 
I ceased - abruptly, rather: 
But, after such a splendid word 
I felt that it would be absurd 
To try it any farther.
 

So with a yawn I went my way 
To seek the welcome downy, 
And slept, and dreamed till break of day 
Of Poltergeist and Fetch and Fay 
And Leprechaun and Brownie! 

For year I've not been visited 
By any kind of Sprite; 
Yet still they echo in my head, 
Those parting words, so kindly said, 
"Old Turnip-top, good-night!"

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