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James Whitcomb Riley - The Ancient Printman
Work rating: Low

"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.
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