COLLECTED POEMS
Then back we steered through the foam again,
But our thoughts were fast and few;
And all we did was to crowd the surge
And to measure the life we knew; —
Till at last we came where a dancing gleam
Skipped out to us, we three,
And the dark wet mooring pointed home
Like a finger from the sea.
Then out we pushed the teetering skiff
And in we drew to the stairs;
And up we went, each man content
With a life that fed no cares.
Fingers were cold and feet were cold,
And the tide was cold and rough ;
But the light was warm, and the room was warm,
And the world was good enough.
And there were the pipes, and there was the punch,
More shrewd than Satan's tears :
Fingal had fashioned it, all by himself,
With a craft that comes of years.
And there we were together again
Together again, we three:
Morgan, Fingal, fiddle, and all,
They were there for the night with me.
AUNT IMOGEN
Aunt Imogen was coming, and therefore
The children Jane, Sylvester, and Young George
Were eyes and ears; for there was only one
Aunt Imogen to them in the whole world,
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