ob--throb--but you shall finish
this. (Writes) You, too, rebel, old pen? On, on like a
lusty cripple, and we'll scratch out of this hole.
(Lifting pen) Why, old fellow, this will buy bread. O,
bread, bread, bread, for one sweet crumb of thee to feed
an angel here! (Touching his forehead) Gordon will not
fail me. His letter will come to-day. And with his help
I'll get on good ground once more. And _then_!... (Writes.
Drops pen with a groan) ... Gordon's letter _must_ come
to-day. O, I would live, would live, for seeds are
gendering in my mind that might their branches throw above
the clouds and shake immortal buds to this bare earth!...
(Looks at writing) Words! Ye are but coffins for
imagination! No more of you! (Crushes paper) Eternity's in
labor with this hour! (Leaps up) I could make Time my page
to carry memories from star to star! O Heaven, wouldst
thou vouchsafe thy visions to these eyes, then fill them
with cold clay? Pour to these ears thine own philosophies,
then send the crawling worm to pluck their treasure out?
(Falls to chair. Enter Mrs. Schmidt)

Mrs. S. (Holding out letter) Here it is, sir.

Poe. (Rousing) What, Smidgkin?

Mrs. S. The letter's come, sir.

Poe. Thank you. (Takes letter. Mrs. Schmidt waits expectantly)
If you will be so good, Smidgkin--I mean if you will be so
cruel as to bereave me of your presence while I break this
very personal seal--very personal, I assure you--

Mrs. S. No, sir. I stay to see what's inside o' that!

Poe. Since you desire it, madam. (Starts to open letter and
hesitates) I--hope you are well, my good Smidgkin.

Mrs. S. Always am. Hadn't you better see what's in it?

Poe. To be sure.... I hope you have a good fire in your room
this chilly weather, Smidgkin.

Mrs. S. Always do. I'll break it for you, Mr. Poe.

Poe. O, no, no! I couldn't think of troubling you. The rain
beats very heavily. I hope your-er-roof will not be
injured.

Mrs. S. Law me, I had every leaf tinkered up them sunny days
last week. I believe in preparin' for a rainy day, _I_ do,
Mr. Poe.

Poe. Indeed, yes,--if only we were all so wise, but, alas, my
dear Smidgki