Poem One-Hundred-Forty-Three

T H E    ARTIST'S    G  A  L  L  E  R  Y  (Prologue)
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     And the first and the last words that
     Sir [XXXX-XXXX-XXXX] The Fourth--
     The dying old mute-man--said was,
     Merely minutes before his passing to the north:

     "Don't let them take my collection from me;
     "If they are collected, then they will never sleep."

     And then he was gone, body empty, soul walking;
     Walking the path towards his wife and ancestry;
     Those in the room with Master [XXXX] commented
     On the eerie and empty face, the end of a dynasty;

     Despite being told many a time by some,
     That the man was sure and clearly dead,
     Some later commented that Sir [XXXX]
     Seemed not to be absent from his bed.