The Castaway

IT WAS an aged castaway upon a desert strand;
The wind had blown his mast away, he drifted to the land,
And all his life had passed away upon the desert strand.

And human speech was strange to him, he had forgot it all,
And change was no more change to him; he had a cavern small
That was a moated grange to him, his harborage and hall.

The shark he hunted jauntily, the turtle and the bird,
And songs he sang most chauntily that had not any word,
And wore bright feathers flauntily, and thought them not absurd.

There came a brave ship’s crew to him, w hen he was ninety-four;
The words they spoke were new to him, for speech he spoke no more,
They brought a tin of stew to him, that had enough in store.

Whatever things they said to him, he had no word to say;
The outer world was dead to him, he would not sail away,
The cavern was his bed to him, sufficient w as the day.

They wagged their heads most drearily, that he was so serene;
They pulled their oars most wearily, back to their brigantine.
He waved at them most cheerily, and ate a mangosteen.